


Excess

by Twisted_Barbie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Amateur Pornography, Canonical Character Death, Forced Marriage, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Negan is his own warning, Prostate Milking, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sexual Coercion, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 02:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 84,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8872723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Barbie/pseuds/Twisted_Barbie
Summary: Canon compliant up to series 7 episode 4Disappointed with Rick’s video diary, Negan demands compensation which opens the door for an indecent proposal.  ‘“After this piss poor tribute, you were already gonna do that.” His thumb stroked over Rick’s bottom lip once more. “No,” Negan whispered, voice huskier and eyes heavy-lidded as he gazed at Rick with hunger in his eyes. “You’re gonna properly compensate me. I watched your Big Brother audition with the hopes of a little action and I ain’t leaving here until I have something for the spank bank.” He released Rick’s chin and Rick stretched his jaw pointedly while Negan lovingly caressed the camera.'





	1. Compensation

One week.

Seven days.

168 hours. 

10,080 minutes. 

604,800 seconds to find something interesting for the Saviours. It was laughable, a mockery of mercy when there was none to be had. One week was a sentence not a reprieve to scavenge on land several times plundered.

Rick eyed the fold-out table and the meagre homage they had managed to gather. Eugene had put together a music player while Spencer had to be punished for hoarding so his bottle of whiskey was also on the table. Tara had returned with numerous novelty sunglasses so twelve pairs were laid out, along with two snap-back caps, a single pack of chewing gum and 10 litres of petrol in a Jerry can beneath the table. 

The multiple roar of engines cut through the stilted silence as the gathered awaited with bated breath for the monster to emerge from behind the screen. A panicked whine left Eugene’s mouth as a familiar silhouette appeared sauntering up toward the gate. Rick swallowed down his defiance leaving a bad taste in his mouth as he pushed back the screen knowing better than to keep Negan waiting.

“Now this is a welcome!” Negan announced, still dressed in dark denims and leather jacket despite the subtropical humidity with Lucille poised in the air to strike one of the bars. “I could get used to this,” Negan added as their eyes met, aqua meeting indiscernible hazel as Negan licked his lower lip and winked his left eye. A tremor of revulsion ran down Rick’s spine but he simply clenched his jaw swallowing down his retort as he opened the gate. 

Negan’s mindless minions spilled out of the trucks and into Alexandria like a flash flood of egotistical, entitled, testosterone-driven bullies. Rick caught sight of Daryl in his peripheral vision knowing better than to look directly at his brother in arms. His face had healed slightly from what he could see through his greasy unwashed hair and still they paraded him around in the same dirty sweat-damp sweater with a spray-painted letter A on the front. His observation could go no further as Negan sauntered up to him invading his personal space and forcing him to tilt his head up to look Negan in the eye. 

“So, what have you got for me, Rick?” Negan asked with another swipe of his tongue against his lower lip leaving Rick feeling uncomfortable from the overtures of Negan’s actions. 

“If you’ll come over here, Mr Negan, I could show you.” Another voice sounded just behind Rick’s left shoulder. Rick’s shoulders tensed from the interruption as Negan’s smile faltered as he turned his gaze over his shoulder to eye the gutsy person who had spoken out of turn. 

“Mr Negan?” Negan asked, as his smile returned revealing pearly white teeth. “I like that, shows respect ‘cause you sure as shit don’t have any. I was talking to King Shit over here, not to whoever the fuck you are.” 

“Spencer, Sir.” 

Negan’s eyes narrowed. “There you go again!” The tension in the air was palpable and Rick turned to shake his head at Spencer willing him to shut his mouth. “We seem to have a problem here, Rick.” Negan warned holding Rick accountable. 

“Spencer please,” Rick insisted despising the tremor in his voice. 

“Yeah Spencer, shut the fuck up.” Negan added, smirking when Rick turned to face him no longer angry but jovial once more. “But since you’re so fucking eager to show me what you got for me you may as well.” Negan said, bastardising Rick’s ruling and approached Spencer with Lucille swinging far too keenly at his side. 

Rick turned with apprehension and watched the dirty blond haired male reference the table with an elaborate sweep of his arm. The shit-eating grin was misplaced as Spencer relied too much on his boyish good looks and Rick’s stomach tied in knots as Lucille was thrown over Negan’s shoulder as he returned the smile. 

“We could get…” Rick implored.

“Rick!” Negan announced rounding on him. “Watch how us men communicate.” He turned back to Spencer whose dark eyes had become shifty realising he had entered into a game and he was unfamiliar with the rules. “Wow, all this for us?” Negan asked sarcastically but Spencer smiled misreading the situation and Rick felt helpless all over again. “How many sticks of gum do you reckon there is?” Spencer shrugged and scratched his neck uncomfortably while his white shirt became wet beneath the arms. “Count them for me.” Spencer nodded and leaned over the table to count while Negan winked devilishly at Rick, and swung Lucille stopping millimetres from Spencer’s head. “Oh I’m sorry,” Negan addressed the both of them. “Am I distracting you?” 

“N-no Sir,” Spencer stuttered and eyed Rick searching for help he could not give. Negan swung again, not as close but just as frightening as Rick’s heart hammered in his chest. Spencer was a punk kid but no one deserved to be on the receiving end of a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. 

Thankfully Negan grew tired of his torture and Lucille came to rest at his side as he eyed Rick once more. His movements were brazen and overly dramatic to draw the eye and he tilted his head ensuring Rick was his captive audience. “So how many sticks?” He asked, words tossed over his shoulder as his dark dangerous eyes never left Rick’s.

“Five, Sir,” Spencer answered meekly, head down in subjugation. 

Negan smiled as though he had already anticipated Spencer’s submission and he was merely showing off his leadership qualities, putting in place punk kids that rode roughshod over Rick. “Five? Wow!” Negan exclaimed again. “But what I really want to know,” Negan began stalking slowly closer to Rick like a predator hunting its prey. “Is if anymore magic guns have just appeared. SHAKE DOWN!” Negan announced and his minions spilled out into the streets towards the houses. 

“Ah ah,” Negan gripped his bicep as Rick meant to follow the men’s progress. He paused, feet planted firmly and eyes dead ahead as Negan’s hand never left his bicep. “Now Rick,” Negan began, dropping his arm and stepping beside him. He placed Lucille on the ground while he unzipped his left pocket and retrieve the video camera he had previously taken. “As much as I liked your dear diary I must confess it was boring as shit. You are one pathetic wimpy bitch, you’ve killed people, so what? Own that shit. Fuck, they probably deserved it no need to cry into the dishwater.” Rick bit back a retort, showing humanity was not weakness, only in the eyes of those morally corrupt. “You see in this New World, time is a commodity and you made me waste a shit ton of mine. How do you intend to compensate me?” Negan asked, obliterating Rick’s person space as his breath blew hot against Rick’s cheek.

“I’ll scavenge again, go further, provide for you.” Negan reached out and clutched Rick’s chin with his gloved hand and forced him to look him in the eye. His thumb rubbed over Rick’s lip while his malicious dark eyes followed its journey as he licked his own lips once more. 

“After this piss poor tribute, you were already gonna do that.” His thumb stroked over Rick’s bottom lip once more. “No,” Negan whispered, voice huskier and eyes heavy-lidded as he gazed at Rick with hunger in his eyes. “You’re gonna properly compensate me. I watched your Big Brother audition with the hopes of a little action and I ain’t leaving here until I have something for the spank bank.” He released Rick’s chin and Rick stretched his jaw pointedly while Negan lovingly caressed the camera. 

Rick hesitated when Negan’s words battled through the maelstrom of his mind and sunk into his consciousness. He took a cautious step backwards and watched the cheesy smile fade as the mirth died in Negan’s eyes. “Get moving,” Negan ordered gravely no longer playing the pantomime villain. He shoved at Rick’s shoulder as the video camera was secured in his pocket once more, and he lifted Lucille when Rick failed to act. “Are you really doing this now, cause now is really not the time to grow a pair.”

“Where…” Rick paused to swallow the bile that rose in his throat. “Where are we going?” 

“Someplace cosy, now get going.” Rick trudged down the streets of Alexandria to an undisclosed location. Negan was the proverbial devil on his shoulder as he led him through the streets, past ransacked houses and distraught residents. If it wasn’t for Negan’s steady mantra urging him forward, he wasn’t quite sure what he would do. This invasion of property and subsequent destruction of was never a part of their agreement. It was unnecessary and vindictive and spelled serious trouble for the future as he had been emasculated and no longer had the testicular fortitude to quell the rising unrest in the streets. 

“Home sweet home,” Negan announced, stopping outside of Eugene’s house. Rick eyed him out of the corner of his eye wondering what the game was. Had he meant to find Rick’s house, or was he simply being his obnoxious self? If he were to correct him, Negan might want to go to his house or make lewd juvenile jokes about playdates. No, under these circumstances ignorance was bliss and Rick would take little victories wherever he could. “Go on,” Negan encouraged and so Rick climbed up the steps and into Eugene’s house. 

The place was clean, minimalist and boring with the dull grey walls and lack of personal touch. For all intent and purposes the place could very well be Rick’s and he would keep up the ruse if Negan should ask. “Get up those stairs, Rick.” Rick followed instruction and climbed the stairs with Negan following closely behind him. When he reached the landing he paused unsure until Negan shoved him once, causing him to stumble and throw a glare over his shoulder.

“Be careful,” Negan warned. “Careful how you look at me,” he added as if Rick would misconstrue his earlier threat. 

Another shove saw Rick cross the threshold into the bedroom. The majority of the beds had been spitefully taken and burned but Eugene’s had survived the bonfire and the sight of the king-sized bed made him quake in terror. He turned to Negan, hands raised in surrender with tears welling in his eyes.

“Please no.” 

“Ho-ly shit, Rick, What? You think just because I take you to a bedroom I’m gonna force myself on you like some fucking animal?” Rick could only gape, hands still up. Negan levelled Lucille at his chest forcing the end- now clean but no less threatening- against his breastbone. “I think you owe me an apology.” Rick licked at his dry lips, mouth parched as his breath came in heavy pants. Negan’s moods unbalanced him, leaving him guessing, searching for a response that would never be correct. “Am I talking to my fucking self, right now? I said apologise.” His threat, growled low in his throat was subsequently followed by a sound thump on his breastbone by Lucille. 

“I’m sorry,” Rick answered, eyes downturned towards the pale grey carpet. 

“And why are you sorry, Rick?” 

“I’m sorry for…” tears spilled down his cheeks as his mind was reeling. What was he sorry for? He couldn’t think, his thoughts were scattered. He lifted his head staring desperately at Negan to fill in the blanks. 

Negan sighed, annoyed. “You’re sorry for thinking I’m some fucking deviant that can’t take no for an answer. Hell, you’re sorry for even thinking a man like me even needs to resort to rape. Ever stop to think that maybe you’re the pervert? You just think I’m just gonna jump on you, put you on your back?” Negan asked, voice becoming lower as he stepped closer. “You sure that’s not just your wishful thinking, Rick?” The man knew nothing of personal space, as Rick tilted his head back to look at Negan and was once more treated to the sight of the older man licking his lips as though he wished to devour him. 

His hands balled into fists at his sides as he fought the urge to punch Negan in the face. He wasn’t homophobic, far from it and with his adrenaline pumping he was aware of the blood flow heading south. His body was a mess caught between fight or flight, brain signals misfiring causing his body to act inappropriately as he fought his very nature. 

“You look like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Fuck me, you’re beautiful, better looking than at least seventy percent of my wives, don’t tell them that though, they’d rip my balls off and wear ‘em as earrings.” Negan laughed and set Lucille down in a chair by the dressing table and pulled the video camera from his pocket once more. “Kiss me,” he ordered and Rick baulked. 

“Thought you didn’t force people,” Rick snapped, trembling in fear and from his own audacity. 

“Ooh fresh mouth, I like that. People like to please me, you like to please me.” He added cupping Rick’s cheek. “You _want_ to please me judging from that semi you’re hiding in your jeans. I’m not telling you to kiss me, you want to kiss me and I’m allowing you to.” Rick nodded, momentarily swayed by Negan’s reverse psychology. His reasoning threw doubt over every exchange they ever had and he wondered if he had unknowingly led Negan on.

He shook his head, disregarding such ludicrous thoughts. Negan was a manipulative puppeteer, who knew enough to ignore the puppet he wanted and pull on someone else’s strings. His actions had always been indirect as he enjoyed breaking those that posed a threat to him. What he was doing right now was in a different league and Rick was on the backfoot. Whatever mind-fuck this was the threat was still the same, defy him and someone dies and there was enough blood on Rick’s hands already. 

Negan tilted his head, awaiting an answer. The video camera was open and clutched in his right hand with the red recording light on in a foregone conclusion. Presumptuous bastard. Rick lunged forward and pressed their lips together in an awkward closed-mouth kiss. He had hoped to call Negan’s bluff and be pushed away in revulsion but once more he had misinterpreted the situation as Negan’s tongue flicked out and licked across the seam of his sealed lips. Sparing a glance at the camera that was held up recording their kiss, Rick swallowed his pride and opened his mouth for Negan’s invading tongue. 

He tried to ignore Negan’s satisfied grunt as his tongue plundered his mouth taking what little was left of him and leaving nothing for anyone else. He had never felt so _owned,_ so completely out of control and out of his depth as he did in this moment. Negan’s left hand found its way into his hair and clutched dark sweat-damp curls and tugged harsh enough to break the kiss.

“I want a show, Rick.” Negan chastised and dropped his hand from his hair and wiped at a stray tear instead. “You think you can do that for me or are you going to blub into the dishwater?” Rick kissed him again and captured his bottom lip and worried it between his teeth. He glanced up feeling dwarfed by the other man’s stature and found Negan’s eyes directed towards the lens basking in his own victory. 

He ignored his own disgust as he released the reddened lip and pressed their mouths together. His tongue slipped into Negan’s mouth and he tasted cigars and lemonade as he sought the other man’s tongue. He felt rather than heard the deep rumbling of laughter from Negan’s chest as he was pushed back, but held as a gloveless hand clutched the material of his shirt at his shoulder. Rick could only eye him sceptically and then in disgust as Negan stuck his tongue out and winked to the camera. He understood what the man wanted but refused to give it as he sucked Negan’s tongue into his mouth. He could taste Negan’s disappointment and was duly satisfied, small victories, the battle had been fought and lost all they had now were small victories. 

“Mmmm,” Negan moaned in satisfaction, stepping away and turning the camera off. “You’ve been real good to me, now I’m gonna be good to you. I’m gonna let you get on that bed and take care of that chubby.” Negan offered magnanimously. “And you’re gonna do it, not because I told you to but…”

“Because I want to,” Rick finished in a monotone, head still and eyes vacant. 

“Atta boy!” Negan cheered with a Cheshire Cat grin. He turned then, eyeing Lucille occupying the chair. “You mind, darling?” He asked the inanimate object, before lifting the bat and settling it on the dresser and taking a seat himself. His legs were splayed wide bringing attention to his own bulging crotch as he toyed with the camcorder. “You don’t mind, do you?” Negan asked, pointing towards the camera and yes, Rick did mind, but he didn’t have a choice. “Sit, sit,” Negan encouraged, giddily as his right leg bounced excitedly. 

Rick took a seat on the end of the bed and rubbed his sweat damp palms along his jeans. “Unzip, get comfortable, pretend you’re at the office after a long day. Can’t tell me you never recorded yourself jerking off and sending it to your old lady telling her what’s for pudding?” Rick remained silent. “Fuck me, you haven’t? Shit, I’d say you were a prude but you got a son and you kiss like a fucking slut. Maybe you just didn’t send it to your old lady, did you lurk in chatrooms Rick? Whip it out so anyone could watch you? Maybe you made money on the side as a camboy. Shit I could picture that, cowboy boots, Stetson and tight leather chaps and nothing underneath, Rodeo Rick promising an eight second ride?” If Negan was expecting an answer Rick did not give him one. “Oh cheer the fuck up for fuck sake no one’s died…yet. Fucking hate when you level me with those sad baby blues, I’m being good to you.” 

Freud would have a field day determining all of Negan’s personality disorders. Rick himself wondered if Negan believed half the crap that came out of his mouth or if he was saying it due to a love for his own voice. It didn’t matter, however he dressed up the threat it was still a threat and Rick knew better than to keep Negan waiting. 

Taking a deep steadying breath, Rick unzipped his jeans pointedly ignoring Negan’s pleased grunt. “Take your jeans off, and your shirt, not because I’m telling you…”

“But because I want to.” He wondered if he said it enough would it become true? He stands from the bed and kicks his boots off and pushes his jeans and boxers down in one go, like ripping off a band aid. His blue shirt is a button-up but he pulls it over his head and tosses it onto the floor eager for this charade to be over. 

”Eager, I like that,” Negan comments as Rick takes a seat trying to find the courage to eye his tormentor. When he eventually does look at Negan he finds that the camera is directed at him and the recording light is on once more. “Don’t look so terrified, Rick. Just spit in your palm and take that beautiful cock of yours into your hand and stroke.” If there was a way out of this nightmare Rick could not find it. Reluctantly he followed Negan’s orders, barely producing any saliva as he spat into his palm and took his cock in hand. 

He was annoyed at himself from uttering a long stuttering sigh as his hand stroked up the shaft for the first time, tugging back the foreskin to play with the head of his cock. He hadn’t been hard in what felt like months, as the worry, loss and devastation had rendered him impotent. Michonne had tried to awaken his sexual desire but her kisses tasted of ash and it was soul-destroying realising Negan stirred him in ways that Michonne no longer could. 

“That’s good,” Negan commented rousing him from his thoughts. He heard the zoom on the camera and tried to clear his thoughts as he stroked his shaft, quickening his pace hoping for it to be over quickly. “Don’t forget to play with those balls, didn’t think you had any since I neutered you. Give em a little squeeze for me.” Rick’s self-loathing almost chokes him as he obeys Negan and cups his testicles and gently squeezes. “Nice, now shift as far off the bed as you can and open those legs for me.” Rick follows his commands docilely as his self-respect lies on the floor in tatters. “Wider, let me see that slut-hole.” A fat miserable tear escapes his eye and rolls down his cheek as he sits back exposing himself in the worst possible way. “Thought you’d be gaping but I guess I took your boy Daryl. Should have known you two were knocking boots the way you two weepy fucks stare at one another. Aww don’t look at me like that, Rick, I ain’t judging, shit if I were Daryl I’d be kicking up just as much fuss no longer having access to your ass.” Negan laughs then, low and sardonically. “Shit all this talk of Daryl is actually making me jealous. How about you distract me by fingering that little slut-hole, fuck, a bitch like you must be gagging for it.”

Rick hesitates, despite Negan’s outlandish accusations he had only had a finger up his anus once many years ago when Lori was drunk and feeling frisky. The thought of doing it again is not a necessarily bad one but it is a gateway to what Negan truly wants. He is not so sheltered that he hadn’t realised Negan’s game, he starts small, asks for little things that won’t affect too much. Then he wants more and he would keep coming back until there is nothing left, he would do it to their supplies and he would do it to Rick. 

“What’s that pretty little head of yours thinking, Rick? I know you want something more _substantial_ inside you but good things come to those who wait. Use your finger for now, open yourself up, let me see.” Rick lifts two fingers on his right hand to his mouth and sucks on them, ignoring Negan’s groans of approval as he wets them before moving his hand between his thighs. The angle is wrong and he shifts awkwardly as he presses his index finger against his rim and gently eases it inside much to Negan’s satisfaction. 

“Fucking beautiful,” Negan observes while stroking his own confined cock. “What are you imagining? Are you a freak? I bet you’re a fucking freak in bed, you wanna imagine my tongue inside you? Course you do, I wonder what you taste like, Daryl’s cum most likely or whoever the fuck else you been screwing. Come on, tell ol’ Negan who you’ve been fucking since I took your Daddy away.” 

“No one,” Rick ground out between clenched teeth. 

“Get the fuck outta here,” Negan scoffed. “Was it Spencer?” Rick’s silence was enough of an answer. “No, the mullet, oh please tell me it was the mullet. I hope you rode that dick ‘cause he could squash you. Fuck Rick, how many daddies you got?” Rick didn’t answer and resumed stroking his cock willing this all to be over. “Aww shit, I’m not slut shaming. High maintenance whore like you needs all the daddies you can get.” Rick swallowed his retort, refusing to take Negan’s bait though the constant judgement on his character was demeaning. He wanted to ignore the older man- tried to – but the attacks on his night time activities left him dazed. Did Negan truly believe that of him and if so why did he care so much if he did? 

The tightening in his groin was a welcomed reprieve from his unsavoury thoughts and he stroked faster using his pre-cum to slick the length of his shaft. He pressed his finger deeper inside himself searching for a bundle of nerves that would see him to the end sooner. He was thankful Negan had quit his play by play commentary and was instead aggressively rubbing his cock through his jeans as he still recorded him. It was a small mercy; very small considering Rick did not know who Negan intended to show. It might be for himself or he may be generous and project it on a wall wherever the fuck he’s from, not from the satellite tower, he learnt that the hard way. 

His legs spasm as his finger reaches its goal and he cries out in surprise and his voice is chorused by Negan’s. “Fuck, baby!” the term of endearment leaves him shuddering, though it could very well be from the constant assault on his prostate gland. He’s barely coherent as each jab of his finger sends fire licking up his spine. His balls are heavy, tight drawn up ready for release but the euphoria escapes him leaving him a panting wanton mess on the bed. “Cum for me,” Negan purrs, voice like honey and Rick is lost as his cock pulses and covers his chest, stomach and hand in semen. 

It’s wrong and he feels sick that he _needed_ Negan’s permission to get off. His shoulders shake as he cries silently, desolate and broken. He’s been emasculated and overthrown and he can see no escape from the dark hole Negan had cast him into. If he were an animal the polite thing to do would be to put him down, as a man, or formerly a man he thinks the same outcome would be appropriate. 

“Sh-it!” Negan exclaims, standing up with the camera closed in his hand. “That was hot, fuck, you got me cumming in my pants like a fucking teenager. You sir, are special, now lay back for me.” 

Rick stills in terror and then lifts his head defiantly. “No!” 

Negan laughs humourlessly and scratches at his salt and pepper beard. His laughter dies in his throat and his mouth tightens in a thin line as he eyes Rick with the fires of hell burning in his eyes. “Lay on your back and spread your legs before Lucille finds out just how loose a slut you are.” 

Rick glares despite the tears in his eyes though it is merely pointless posturing. He will lay on his back, that is a foregone conclusion, this display of defiance will only make things harder for himself and maybe he wants that, _needs_ that, at least then he could have some control. 

He crawls up the bed and flips onto his back and rests his head on the pillow before parting his thighs. He catches Negan moving in his peripheral vision and hears the zoom of the camera zooming in and out as Negan positions it for the best angle. The bed dips as Negan joins him, laying on his right side, leather jacket gone and resting over the back of the chair. The white shirt is tight on him clinging to his lithe toned torso and spread so thin he could see the dark outlines of tattoos. 

“Hi,” Negan greets, propping his head up by his left hand while his gloved right skims across his torso tracing the ropes of cum on his chest. “You wanna kiss me?” Rick shakes his head, no and Negan laughs as his hand lowers and rubs his wilted cock. 

“N-no,” Rick protests, too sensitive to be touched. Mercifully Negan’s hand moves lower to cup and caress his balls. 

“Shouldn’t have given you the snip. Guess you were hot shit around here, walking around with your big balls and your cock in hand and gun on your hip. No one messed with you, now look at you, can’t even defend your throne from a punk like Spencer. Shit, that is just fucking sad. Alexandria needs an alpha male Rick, and that just ain’t you anymore, is it?” Rick hoped that question was rhetorical because Negan wasn’t getting an answer. “Damn shame,” Negan sighed and patted his testicles before moving his hand further down. 

Rick choked on a gasp and his back arched as Negan pushed two fingers inside him. One was tolerable but he felt the uncomfortable stretch with two. “Oh, fuck,” Negan moaned and pressed his hips against Rick’s hip, rocking against him. “If you could see yourself, see how I see you.” Rick groaned as Negan found his prostate and he shook his head, and squeezed his eyes shut as the pleasure was so intense, too intense it had become painful. 

“Odd isn’t it?” Negan asked, fucking him with his two fingers, hitting his prostate on each thrust. “Too much of a good thing, that’s what the Sanctuary is like, an over indulgence, excess. I think you will like it there, Rick.” 

Rick’s eyes snapped open at that and he stared at Negan while grinding his teeth. His body was over stimulated but still he pushed back against Negan’s fingers in a parody of fucking that he seemingly had no control over.

“S-stop,” a stuttered plea, a useless cry for mercy from a man that had shown none. His cock throbbed painfully as he was simply too old to go again so soon.

“Intense right?” Negan asked, eyeing Rick’s body that felt as tight as a cord. “Like you wanna burst out your skin? Too much but never enough. You get that, hell you’ve been fucking yourself on my fingers probably thinking it was me. It was you, Rick, wanting, needing. It’s a fucking crime that no one has been giving you what you need, I will. How about it, Rick?” 

Rick was a mess coming apart at the seams with Negan’s fingers inside him. “What?” He asked dumbly, his body wracked with tremors as Negan stroked over his stretched rim with a third finger. 

“I’m asking you to marry me. I mean, it’s the least I could do since I made you the village bitch.” Rick was sure he had misheard as he was out of his mind caught between pain and pleasure. He pressed against Negan’s hand, forcing the third finger inside himself as he cried out and reached completion with his cock pulsing painfully in a dry orgasm. “Atta boy,” Negan complimented and withdrew his fingers and wiped them on the bedspread. “That’s what I’m offering you, Rick, a life of excess.” Rick laid back on the bed, mind numb and breathing heavily. 

“I’ll sweeten the deal, since this place needs a leader and someone I can rely on, I’ll let Daryl go. He’s actually an alpha male unlike someone I know, no more working for points, he’ll be free, in a sense.” Rick’s head was swimming and he was barely coherent as Negan caressed his cheek and turned his face so he could look him in the eye. “I’ll have you fitted out in new clothes, we have great tailors, something tight and black. Just say yes,” he encouraged, hungrily eyeing his lips. “Or better yet say ‘I do.’” 

Rick shook his head. “I…” Negan slapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish. 

“Mull it over, give me the answer in a week.”

“I don’t ne…”

“A week!” Negan insisted, pressing his hand harder across Rick’s mouth and glaring down at him. Rick was helpless beneath him and simply nodded. “Good boy,” Negan patted his cheek and then climbed off the bed and fiddled with the camera. “Get dressed, I expect you to see me out.” Rick nodded and used the already soiled sheets to clean the semen from his torso and wipe his hands. He’d explain to Eugene later, but for the time being he dressed as quickly as possible wanting Negan out of Alexandria and preferably out of his life. 

He ignored Negan’s hand when he held it out to him and stomped out of the room knowing Negan wouldn’t be far behind. The streets were calmer than they had been, as most of the families had retired back into their homes to clean the mess. A few loitered in the streets glaring at them with hate filled eyes and as much as Rick wished to believe their gazes were reserved for Negan he was not so naïve. 

Once they reached the gates, the majority of Negan’s men were loaded in the trucks and Rick found that only Eugene had remained by the table possibly too frightened to move. Rick eyed the table, the jerry can was missing along with the chewing gum, whiskey, both caps and two pairs of sunglasses. 

Noticing the direction of his gaze, Negan slipped his arm around his waist and shoved his hand into the back pocket of his jeans. Rick froze, and he could see Daryl startled too and lunged forward until Dwight grasped him by the sweater and pulled him back. 

“Show me what you got for me,” Negan said resting his chin on his shoulder before herding him towards the table. “What’s that, my man?” Negan asked Eugene, pointing towards the music player. 

“Portable audio system,” Eugene answered, voice unwavering. 

Negan removed his hand from his pocket and held his hands out for the device. Eugene passed it over carefully and Negan looked it over critically. “Do you have any CDs?” Eugene shook his head, no. “Damn shame, useless to me without them.” Arrogantly he dropped it to the ground and kicked it for good measure, though Rick wondered why he was even surprised. This was the same man that had taken their beds and burned them just because he could. “Really could have done with some new CDs, Dwighty boy here loves to play the same damn song day in and day out. Ask your boy Daryl if he’s learnt all the lyrics to Easy Street yet.” It was a trick to make him look at Daryl and he almost fell for it before quickly dropping his head making Negan laugh. 

The feel of Negan’s un-gloved hand against his cheek made him lift his head to find Negan wetting his lips. “How about a parting kiss for your fiancé?” The question was for him though Negan’s eyes were on Daryl as he was clearly trying to vex him. 

“Get off my dad!” A new voice shouted and suddenly Negan was away from him, but not far enough. He started forward when a barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead and a gun was levelled on Eugene and out of his corner of his eye he could see that Daryl was also held at gunpoint. 

He looked towards Negan who was laughing, clutching his son in a front headlock as Carl had tried to tackle him but he hadn’t been strong enough to take him down.

“Negan, please,” Rick begged, stepping forward only to have a second gun press into his ribs. 

“Aww we’re just having some fun,” Negan pouted and then pushed Carl away from him and into the awaiting arms of one of his men. “Load him up, I like him.”

“Dad!”

“This wasn’t part of the deal,” Rick stated watching his son struggle in a Saviour’s arms. Negan bent down and lifted Carl’s fallen Stetson and dusted it off before placing it onto Carl’s head.

“Take him,” he told the Saviour and Rick was helpless as they dragged his son away. 

“Stop, please, just let him go, he’s just a kid.” Negan approached slowly and wiped at the tears that ran down his face. 

“Don’t worry,” he soothed, stepping closer and leaning forward, his breath hot against Rick’s ear. “I’ll take good care of _our_ son,” he whispered so only Rick could hear. “I look forward to your answer next week now what do you say?” 

Rick could only stare at the van his son was taken to. “Thank you,” he managed to utter around the lump in his throat. 

“Good boy,” Negan grinned and patted his backside before swinging Lucille over his shoulder and whistling while he walked away, delivering one last kick to the music player. 

Rick stared desperately at Daryl behind Negan’s back but Dwight caught their interaction and shoved Daryl out of the compound leaving Rick helpless. He ran to the gate when the last Saviour left and he collapsed in tears as he heard his son call for him as the van drove away.


	2. And The Banshee Did Wail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Change of tags and self-harm ahead

Rick paced the length of his basement, clutching his hair in despair. Carl’s screams echoed inside his mind so he pounded his fists against his temples wanting to silence the harrowing cries. When they would not be silenced he chorused the cries with painful howls of his own. 

It was no use; his mind was in turmoil and waring with itself. He pulled his hair until it was painful and strands where ripping from his scalp and falling from his clenched fists to float to the floor softer than a baby’s breath. The thought turned his stomach and he turned quickly and drove his fist into the concrete wall. His fingers did not break and the disdain he had for himself mounted because of his yellow-bellied self-preservation. He punched the wall again and though his fingers did not break, the skin on his knuckles did, tearing open on the rough surface and leaving a trail of blood on the floor. He punched the wall again feeling the pain bloom in his right hand and redirecting his anguish. He continued to punch the wall as it became a release as his blood roared in his ears silencing Carl’s screams. 

When his wrist was suddenly caught on the draw-back, he shook off the loose grip and staggered back. He stared, wild-eyed into Michonne’s dark confused eyes and held a halting hand up when she tried to approach and comfort him. 

“I heard about Carl,” she states evenly, hiding her emotions. “What’s going on, Rick?” She asks suspiciously. “You wouldn’t just stand idly by and let him take Carl. I know you. I’ve seen what you can do. Carl isn’t in danger, is he?” Her tone is suspicious and somewhat accusatory as she lessens the distance between them. “Why did Negan take Carl?” 

_Because he couldn’t have me,_ he longs to say but the words die on his tongue. Instead he drops his gaze to the floor like the beaten dog that he is. He doesn’t deserve Michonne’s concern as he is only worthy of her scorn. 

“Rise up,” Michonne says encouragingly, pushing at his shoulder to force a response. “Rise up and take back what is ours.”

“At what cost?” Rick asks forcing himself to meet her eyes. “We are out-gunned and out-manned. It would be a bloodbath and then what?” 

“We can go on living.” Rick scoffs. 

“So they must die so we can live? Do you know how arrogant that sounds? How arrogant we are?” Rick asks testily. “Let’s say we win, we kill Negan, what happens when the next Negan shows up? It doesn’t stop. We think we are cutting the head off the snake but it is a hydra and he will be replaced by someone possibly worse.” 

Michonne shakes her head unwilling to listen to the truth. “What is it about Negan that terrifies you?” She asks as softly as she is able and pulls her bandana off and wraps his bleeding knuckles. 

What is it about the foul-mouthed narcissistic psychopath that terrifies him? He had asked himself that question many times and still he can find no definite answer. Not when the man murdered members of his family, not when he dragged him around by the collar of his jacket or even when he made him play fetch in a group of walkers. He wasn’t terrified of Negan, only what Negan represented which was a crude self-portrait. 

“I look at him and I see myself.” He clenches his hand into a fist and watches the blood seep through the bandana. Michonne reaches out to him, to embrace him and he steps away from her despising the hurt he sees in her eyes. 

“You are nothing like him.” She states resolute but lies are still lies no matter how sweet the voice that utters them. 

“No,” he agrees. “I’m worse.” It is painful to say but harder to acknowledge and that is what Negan made him do. Now he has become _this_ because he refuses to become _that._ “This thing we have with the Saviours isn’t ideal, but it’s all we got.”

“No,” Michonne shook her head and took a step back. “This isn’t living. We used to talk about our future, you and me, Carl and Judith and now Carl’s gone…”

“I’m doing what I can!”

“No, you’re not. We could fight, and we might die but it is better to live one day as a lion than a hundred years as a sheep.”

“Listen to yourself! Surely it is better to live.” 

“This isn’t living. The Rick I know would see that.” Having enough, Michonne turned and began to walk out. 

“Michonne?” Rick called out to her, not as a lover but as an ally. Michonne stopped, shoulders tense and did not turn. “Me and Aaron are going on a supply run, will you come with us?” 

“I’m a lion, Rick, I refuse to be a sheep.” There was anger and accusation in her words directed towards him, for the man he could no longer be. She stormed from the basement with finality in her movements and Rick mourned for another life he could not save as the lion only lived for a day. 

Rick punched the wall once more and screamed out his frustration. Yes, it was precarious living in the shadow of Negan’s so-called generosity but the alternative didn’t bear thinking about. Too much blood had been spilt, too many lives needlessly lost and for what? Negan was lazy not unreasonable and if sharing their things and debasing himself for Negan’s pleasure kept them alive then so be it. 

Lifting his axe and the map from the floor, Rick left the basement and exited his house. Michonne was nowhere in sight and for that he was grateful. They had had their goodbye, as cold and impersonal as it had been. He had the distinct impression he would not be seeing her again and the thought did not pain him as much as he thought as he had become numb. 

Eric waved to him across the street and pointed towards the gate and Rick raised his hand in acknowledgement. Olivia was already inside watching Judith so he attached the axe to his belt and folded the map and walked up the street. 

Eugene was by the gate, mourning the twice kicked and thrice damned music player, while Aaron stood by the white van with his back against it and foot against the tyre. He moved when he caught sight of Rick, leaving the outline of his back on the van while the back of his blue shirt was covered in dirt. He laughed when he saw it and Rick realised how much he had missed that sound as lately they had had nothing to laugh about. 

“Ready to go?” Aaron asked, shaking the dust from his short brown curls. 

“Yep,” Rick answered with false bravado and climbed into the passenger side as Aaron got behind the wheel. 

“No Michonne?” Aaron asked as Eugene opened the gate. 

“Nope.” Rick answered simply knowing that Aaron wouldn’t push. He felt his eyes on him and caught the look of intrigue and concern before Aaron raised his hand to Eugene and drove out of the compound. 

“Which way?”

“East, keep heading east.” He directed and took the map from his back pocket and opened it up. He’d circled several potential hotspots the majority of which were to the east of the compound and as they only had a week it was their best chance. 

A week. He shivered despite the heat. A week and Negan would return for half their supplies they did not even have and for Rick. He’d come for the answer to his indecent proposal, a decision he had already swayed by the kidnapping of his son. Michonne was right, if he had perceived Carl to be in imminent danger the Saviours would be annihilated or he would be killed in the attempt. But Carl wasn’t in danger, in fact, Carl was possibly safer than he had ever been. Negan wouldn’t hurt him, _couldn’t_ hurt him as it would damage his own agenda. Carl was a bargaining chip and served no purpose dead. 

“You okay? You’re rather quiet?” Aaron asked, sometime later when the sun was beginning to descend. 

“Just thinking ‘bout stuff,” he answered non-committedly. 

“Negan?”

He sat upright once he heard that name. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s obsessed with you, Rick.” Aaron answers with a shrug of his shoulders, spending his time between eyeing Rick and the road. “The way he looks at you, shows off to you, for you. Be careful around him is all I’m saying. Don’t be alone with him if you can help it but I know that he makes that difficult. I’ve seen the way he isolates you, and his jealousy towards Daryl…”

“Yeah,” Rick interrupts remembering Negan’s vulgar tirade about his perceived promiscuity. “He thinks me and Daryl were knocking boots.”

“Makes sense why he took him. He was making you vulnerable, physically and emotionally so he could sweep in for the kill. It’s why he took Carl.” 

For a moment, Rick’s heart ceases to beat as Aaron is far too perceptive for his own good. “We should stop here, get some rest before we lose the light.” He offers instead ending the awkward conversation. He’s always been an introvert and he wasn’t the kind of man that talked about his feelings. 

“Yeah, sure.” Aaron pulls off to the side of the road and kills the engine, before turning in his seat. “But if you need to talk,” he offers. 

“Sure,” Rick agrees and they both share a knowing look and a tight smile before exiting the cab of the van and climbing into the back. With the remaining light they arrange their sleeping bags and have a light meal, made even lighter as Rick could not stomach a single bite, and set up the lantern. When the sun fades, they lock themselves inside and set the alarm before climbing into their sleeping bags and surrendering themselves to sleep. Aaron succumbs to the sandman first and Rick listens to his soft breath before sitting up and scooting closer to the light. He unwraps the bandana from his knuckles and stares at the congealed blood and begins to pick it off.


	3. Scavenging

“Whoa, stop!” Rick called, sitting upright and staring ahead while Aaron put the vehicle in park. “You see that?” Aaron looked but eventually shrugged in reply. “It’s something,” Rick stated and climbed out of the cab and looked around before hiking up the road. 

“It is something,” Aaron agreed, as he caught up and walked beside him. 

They crossed the road and walked on for several metres before coming across an old rusted iron gate. It was locked, the chain as rusted as the gate and the lock no better, clinging desperately to a post that was weathered and had rotted. Along the gate was a piece of plywood tied with twine that read; ‘ _Keep going. Only thing here 4 you is Trouble._ ’

Rick shared a look with Aaron, both knowing the sign was an act of a desperate man. “We have today and only today to find something. They could be back by tomorrow, they could be back now.” A shiver ran down his spine at his own words. What would Negan do if he found him absent? Would he misconstrue it and believe he had ran away and if he did, what would the consequences be? 

Rick shook his head and climbed over the gate. There was no use pondering things he did not have the answers to. All he could do was hope that this scavenge proved fruitful and return home before the devil demanded its due. 

They walked the dirt path, past rusted tractors and trailer parts. The evidence suggested lonely country bachelor but Rick was no longer comfortable with assumptions. They carried on before coming to a halt in front of a homemade billboard and began to read. 

_My name is Leslie William Stanton and I am armed with a Ruger 10/22 (crack shot can hit targets 10yds+) ARS 157 (shit you not!) AK-47, grenades (try me) and several handguns & rifles of antiquity (collector/enthusiast) You are not smart to have not listened to the first sign. You will not survive and my conscience will be clear because you have been warned. I will not hesitate to protect my home, my food, my supplies, my ammo. Congratulations the only way that you have possibly read this far without being shot is that I am dead. Have at it assholes.’ _

“What a charmer,” Aaron scoffed and walked on ahead. Rick followed him down to the lake where an old Seamaster was anchored in the middle of the lake surrounded by walkers. “Today and only today, right?” Aaron stated, taking a deep breath and resigning himself to his fate. 

“Yeah,” Rick drawled and walked over to the shored metal rowing boat noticing the port side was pierced by numerous bullet holes. “All these bullet holes, this will take on water quick.” 

“Probably make it to the canoe,” Aaron offered optimistically. 

“Probably,” Rick agreed though it was hardly worth it, the canoe was a leap of faith away from the Seamaster. “If you wanna stay back…”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.” Aaron interrupted, affronted. 

“It’s not that, it’s just, this is dangerous. There might be no coming back from it and if I go, if I die, Negan might…stop.” 

“That’s pretty arrogant, Rick, even for you. Men like Negan don’t stop, they can’t stop. All this,” Aaron stated, spreading his arms out to encompass the area. “This is just a game to him and when we’re dead he’ll play with someone else, because that’s just who he is.” 

Rick stared at Aaron, slacked-jawed and slightly awed. “You seem to know an awful lot about Negan.” 

“Of course I do,” Aaron answered and walked over to the make-shift billboard and kicked two of the boards down to use as oars. “Dated way too many of them in high school.” He said with a laugh, passing Rick a board. “I’m seeing this through, we both are.” 

Rick couldn’t argue with him and he was deeply touched that Aaron still believed in him despite everything. Such loyalty in these hard times deserved rewarding but Rick had nothing to give him, all he could do was sacrifice himself for the greater good. 

Pushing the boat into the water, Rick hopped in and Aaron climbed in behind him. There was no clear path to the Seamaster without encountering at least two walkers never mind those that lurked beneath the surface. Rick pushed his make-shift oar into the water and hoped for the best while paddling forward. 

As he feared the boat immediately began to take on water and the stern began to sink, plunging Rick’s feet into stale scummy water. “Almost there,” Aaron called moments before Rick was accosted by a wet and bloated walker. Driving his oar through the walker’s head, Rick pushed the corpse away and continued to row much harder than before as half the boat was submerged. 

“Aaron?” He called as he heard scuffling behind him but before he could turn hands gripped his shoulders and yellowed teeth snapped millimetres from his face. He wrestled with the walker, head thrown back away from the lipless mouth and managed to get his soggy foot up and kicked the walker off before finishing it with the oar as he buried it into its eye socket. 

A loud splash followed by Aaron’s panted breath put his nerves at ease. “I’m fine Rick, get on the canoe.” The boat was a lost cause having taken on too much water so Rick stepped across and sat down and then held his hand out for Aaron to board safely. The canoe had drifted when he boarded leaving no more than a metre gap, enough of a space for a walker to rise up from the water and grasp Aaron’s ankle. Rick immediately speared the walker through the skull but it was too late as the walker upset Aaron’s balance and he fell backwards, the small of his back crashing against the metal side before his feet went up over his head and the momentum sent him overboard. 

“Aaron!” Rick screamed scanning the surface of the water. “Aaron?!” He shouted again, his breath coming out in short pants. “Aaron!” His heart clenched in his chest as tears spilled down his cheeks. It wasn’t fair that Aaron had to pay for his mistake, if anyone should meet their end at the bottom of a murky lake it should be him. “Aaron,” he mumbled miserably in mourning, dropping his head and allowing himself to grieve. 

Moments later Aaron broke through the surface spluttering out the foul-tasting water. “I’m okay, get to the boat.” Rick breathed a sigh of relief and wiped away the tears before paddling over to the Seamaster as Aaron swam over. He climbed onto the deck and almost stumbled over the corpse that laid there. He eyed the brown boots, dungarees and plaid shirt and shook his head when he found a handgun centimetres from the right hand, clip empty and deck splattered with brain and skull fragments. 

“Looks like we found Mister Stanton,” Aaron spoke behind him, wringing his shirt over the side. 

“Poor bastard,” Rick muttered staring at the corpse and wondering what killed him first, the loneliness or the bullet. It felt too disrespectful to raid the man’s things over his corpse so with little hesitation, Rick started to push the body sending it overboard. Suicide was deemed as cowardice to some and for some reason Rick did not want Leslie’s name to be tarnished by his actions. Desperate men act desperately and now more than ever Rick could sympathise and empathise with Mr Stanton’s plight. 

“We’ve hit the motherload,” Aaron called out enthusiastically as Rick stared at the still water that was hiding a multitude of sins. 

He left the deck and entered the cabin of the boat and saw a pile of guns the billboard had boasted about though if there were grenades he could not see them. Aaron had opened a container full of bottled water and he opened another that was full of tinned food. Rick lifted the AK-47 and found the clip empty and numerous empty clips lying around. 

“Looks like the only thing he ran out of was bullets.” Rick remarked as Aaron opened another container full of medical supplies and a note. 

“Check this out,” Aaron said holding up a torn piece of lined A4 paper. Drawn in pen was a crude drawing of a middle finger raised and the words _congrats for winning but you still lose!!!_

“This guy,” Rick shook his head, deciding not to acknowledge that the words of a dead man were correct. “I’m gonna throw these guns in the lake, we can’t have ‘em and I sure as hell don’t want to give Negan any more fire power against us.” The thought had crossed his mind to keep them and have Eugene make bullets for them but if they were caught the cost would be too high and if they were left someone else might make use of them. These guns belonged to Mr Stanton and they would stay with him in his watery grave. 

“Sure thing,” Aaron agreed and helped him with the hand guns without question. “He’s got paddles,” Aaron noticed when they disposed of the last of the guns. “With the wind picking up it won’t take too long to drift to shore.” Rick nodded, time was of the essence and so he winched up the anchor and collected the paddle Aaron passed to him and they both began rowing and were aided by the wind. 

Once on the shore, Aaron ran off to collect the van while Rick organised the boxes. The scavenge did indeed bear fruit but Rick had a sinking feeling that they would not be allowed to keep a single item of it, not even a can. He wanted to at least keep the medical supplies since Negan had taken all of theirs and he vaguely wondered what the price of his soul was worth. 

The van backing up awoke him from his reverie and he lifted the back and began to pack up the things along with Aaron. “You know back there, I didn’t mean that you couldn’t do it.” Rick began remembering affronting his friend and he did not wish for there to be bad blood between them. “It’s just, going this far, risking this much to get things for them, people don’t agree with it. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.” 

“I was there, I saw what happened on the road. What we’re doing is going to keep people living, we get to do that. Doesn’t matter what happens to us.” Rick paused, surprised how Aaron made their sacrifice sound noble while everyone else considered him a castrated dog. 

“Michonne doesn’t think this is living.” He adds, since to her he was behaving like a mindless sheep.

“Well, committing to a choice like this after living how we did, free, I get it. It’s hard giving up everything right up to your own life but either your hearts beating or it isn’t. Your loved ones are or they aren’t. We take what they give us so we can live.” Aaron stated with a shrug making their plight sound simplistic and maybe it was, maybe there was still hope. 

They packed up the last box and pulled down the back and locked it before climbing into the cab and pulling away. “I want to thank you,” Rick stated suddenly realising this may be his last chance to say anything. 

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do. You’ve been a great friend to me and after everything you still have faith in me and I wish I could repay that, I really do.” Aaron eyed him suspiciously out of the corner of his eye. 

“Why is this sounding like a goodbye?” Rick felt choked up and couldn’t tell him. 

“Daryl’ll be back soon.”

“Did Negan tell you that?” Aaron asked in disbelief. “You can’t believe a word that man says.” 

“He’ll be back,” he added with certainty which forced Aaron to slam on the breaks. 

“What have you done?” Aaron asked alarmed. “Did my warning come too late?” 

“Only by a couple of hours,” Rick answered with a shrug unable to meet Aaron’s concerned eyes. “Negan, he…made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” 

“Really? Or did he make you an offer you were going to refuse so he took your son?” Rick looked at him then, startled and also because he wanted him to see the truth in his eyes and not so much share the burden but be aware of it. “If he’s releasing Daryl and took Carl it must be something serious.” For how perceptive he was, Aaron had failed to place the final piece in the puzzle. 

“Marriage.” 

“To Maggie?” Rick shook his head. “Wait, to you?” Rick nodded. “Shit, shit!” Aaron expressed his displeasure slamming his hands against the steering wheel. “This is my fault, I should have warned you sooner. I saw the way he looked at you, I _saw_ it and did nothing.”

“Hey, hey,” Rick tried to calm him. “I saw it too, I ain’t so blind, just never thought he’d want _that.”_

“He made you do something in Eugene’s house.” Rick stared at him and tilted his head for him to go on. “I wanted to warn you so I entered the house and heard you two upstairs. He was questioning how many men you had been with and said you were high maintenance and needed…” Aaron paused to swallow. “All the daddies you could get. I didn’t hear anything else as I was chased out of the house. I should have ran up those stairs!” 

“It wouldn’t have changed a thing. He was just fucking with me. Hell, I thought that proposal was bullshit, right up until he tried to smother me when I tried to give him my answer. This is just what Negan does, he beats people down and takes what’s theirs.”

Aaron shook his head. “If that were true then Michonne would be his wife. It was obvious you two were together when she tried to speak up for you. You aren’t safe with him, Rick.”

“That’s my burden to bear, but can I ask a favour from you? I know I’ve got no right…”

“I owe you my life, Rick. What do you need?”

“Negan doesn’t know about Judith, I’d like it to stay that way. Take Judith, move into my house if it would be easier just don’t let Negan find out.”

“Won’t Carl be back?”

Rick scoffed, finally ahead of the game. “Negan isn’t going to let Carl go, he won’t let me go either.”

“You mean…?” Aaron asked with a shaky breath. 

“Yeah, I’m saying yes.” He replied, resolute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos. I'll try to update once a week, every Friday :)


	4. The Devil's Due

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said Friday but I had this finished sooner than anticipated and hopefully I'll have an update by Friday as well :)

The drive back to Alexandria consisted of awkward silences and pitying glances that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and left him feeling uncomfortable. He did not want Aaron’s pity and he didn’t deserve the man’s concern and his acceptance of the situation left him baffled. He should be heartened that he still had one loyal soldier on his side, someone who Negan overlooked and who had lent a hand in his darkest hour. Possessing the power of invisibility when it came to Negan was a fine thing to have and if Rick must leave, as he must, he would have preferred Aaron to take his place. Daryl would undoubtedly assume leadership and though he trusted his brother with his life he was not sure they were on the same page as he and Aaron were. 

They drove up to the gate and Aaron beeped and the screen was pulled back by Eugene. Rick breathed a sigh of relief as he saw no sign of the Saviours and they drove through the gate when it was opened and parked some metres away. 

“I’ll help you unload,” Aaron offered, hopping out of the cab, discreetly clutching his lower back. 

Rick shook his head and climbed out and followed him to the back of the van and opened it. He climbed in before Aaron could and tried to memorise the boxes, before lifting a small plastic grey container, he passed it to Aaron and climbed down. 

“Take this to the church, it’s the one place they didn’t raid.” Aaron eyed the box and then him sceptically. “It’s medical supplies, I’ll be damned if I let them take anymore.” 

“I’ll help you unload first,” Aaron offered and tried to set the box down but Rick grasped his shoulder. 

“You’ve done enough, you’re hurt. Take the supplies to the church and heal, I don’t want you here when the Saviours come, that goes for you too Eugene!” Rick called over his shoulder. 

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Aaron implored while Eugene walked over and understanding the situation, he took the box of medical supplies from Aaron. 

“It’s my burden to bear, now go, protect Judith and look after each other.” There are tears in Aaron’s eyes as well as his own as they embrace tightly, desperately, in a farewell neither wants. When it ends, Eugene watches on with a trembling lower lip and he softly punches him on the arm in comradery as he still holds the box. 

He puts two fingers to his forehead and salutes them before they turn away, it seemed wholly inadequate but it was easier than saying goodbye. Aaron slings an arm around Eugene’s shoulder and for a moment he thinks it is in comfort until he sees how badly Aaron is walking and the way he clutches his lower back. The loyalty Aaron had shown astounds him so he turns in fear he would shed more tears and begins to unload the boxes. 

The exertion leaves him sweating in the hot summer heat as he piles the last box. He attempts to shut the back until he thinks better of it and leaves it open should they imply he was trying to hide something. It seemed the Saviours were just looking for a reason to start something and as this was his last day in Alexandria he owed it to his people to see this transaction through with no casualties to people or property. 

Seconds turn to minutes and minutes soon become an hour as he stands anxious and bored. The wait is excruciating and he’s beginning to think that was the point, just another mind game to leave him reeling so Negan always possesses the upper hand. He paces, restless and is for once thankful to hear the guttural sounds of a walker as it staggers up the driveway towards the gate. Unhooking his axe, Rick opens the gate and slips through before shutting it behind him. He approaches the walker with purpose and plants his axe within its skull, taking out his frustration on the dead. He pulls his axe back and allows the body to crumple to the ground before he raids the pockets. It was a man before, he tries to think no more than that, there’s an empty lighter in his pocket but no cigarettes. He grabs its feet and drags it to the side of the road and hopes more will come as he aches for the oblivion he finds in killing. 

As he waits his right-hand aches and he pulls down the bandana to look at his raw knuckles. Most of it has scabbed over but in places it has yellowed with puss while other places leak clear fluid and a few trickle blood. He picks at the scabs wincing from the pain and yet he finds comfort in it as it focuses his mind and he can live in the now and the pain that he has control over. 

The guttural cry of a second walker pierces his concentration and he wastes no time dispatching it, another man with a grocery list in his top pocket. He stares at the list momentarily stunned;

Milk

Eggs 

Diapers 

A note from a bygone age. He had carried notes with him just like that when Carl was born, usually adorned with an angry face drawn by a stressed mother to a clueless father. It had been rough, those first few weeks when Carl was born but he would not trade them for anything. He wiped away a stray tear and tore up the note when he heard another walker. 

By the time the Saviour’s arrive he had gathered a small crowd as the scent of human blood summoned the ravenous creatures. It was manageable and he’d already dispatched several others but he had no time to go through their pockets or move them so they laid where they fell. As the first van drove up, Negan hopped out while the vehicle was still in motion and he swung Lucille at the first walker smiling gleefully as he did so and eyeing Rick in the hopes that he saw. 

Rick pretended that he didn’t and fought his own battle. There were only four walkers left in close proximity and he finished two while Negan finished the other two and approached him while his minions exited the vehicles and rifled through the pockets of the dead. 

“Damn Rick, that was some first date,” Negan announced with a manic grin as he eyed Rick’s bloody axe and the blood dripping from Lucille. “What a pair,” he said gleefully, stepping closer and Rick almost took a step back. Negan’s hand, surprisingly smooth, caressed Rick’s hand as he teased the axe from his grip and set it down near the gate beside Lucille before returning. “Killing walkers really gets the blood pumping,” he pressed his crotch against Rick’s hip forcing him to feel the hard cock pressing against him. “You wanna kiss me?” He asked softly, wetting his lips in anticipation. 

Rick tilted his head and glared back defiantly. “Where’s my son?”

“Carl?” Negan asked. “He’s doing just fine, he misses you, fuck I missed you too. You know your son gives me that same stink eye, ‘course it’s only half as good. You should be proud of that kid, he gunned down two of my men wanting to kill me. I swear he selected the largest gun, a penis extension if I ever saw one, he looked fucking adorable. I tell you, that little serial killer in the making has really grown on me.” 

“If you’ve hurt him…” Rick growled and left the threat hanging. 

Negan only widened his eyes in mock surprise. “Look at you going all mad poppa bear on me. I suggest you calm the fuck down before your son loses the other eye.” Rick dropped his gaze to the ground and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I didn’t bring the kid with me, but…” he trailed off and pulled the zip open to the left pocket on his leather jacket and produced the video camera once again. “He made you a little video message.” Negan opened the camera and selected a video and held it out so they both could see. 

Rick glared at him, as Negan’s tongue poked out between his teeth as he stifled his own laughter. The video was not of Carl but of himself and Negan laid on Eugene’s bed. His thighs were splayed open with Negan’s gloved hand between his legs and to his horror he could see that Negan had told the truth, he hadn’t moved his hand, Rick had fucked himself on his fingers. He imagines he must have had his eyes closed because he could not recall seeing that expression on Negan’s face before. It was a look of lust and adoration and he wondered if that was what Aaron had seen and not the look of ravenous hunger he was accustomed to. 

“Oops, wrong video.” Negan stated insincerely and stopped the video and fiddled with the camera before holding it out once more. 

This time Carl was on the screen, hands clasped on his lap, hat resting on the couch beside him. His bandage had been removed and his head was lowered, with his long dark tresses falling in front of his wound obscuring it from the camera. 

_“What do you want me to say?”_ He asked uncomfortably once Negan pressed play. 

_“Tell your old man what a swell guy I am…oh for fuck sake, get that damn beer out of the frame.”_ Negan’s disembodied voice called and then his hand came into the shot to snatch the opened bottle of beer. A blur of movement and suddenly a hazel eye framed by a black eyebrow took up the screen as Negan turned the lens onto himself. _“It’s mine, Rick, honest.”_ The eye was replaced with a tilted bottle as Negan took a pointed swig before the camera returned to Carl. 

_”You’re an asshole.”_

_“If you want those driving lessons I suggest you play ball, now tell Daddy that you are well and you love it here.”_

_“I…”_ Carl hesitated before there was a distinct jingle of keys. _“It isn’t so bad, Dad, he hasn’t hurt me.”_

_“Tell him what we had for dinner.”_

_“Spaghetti.”_

_“You’re breaking my balls kid, Negan wants a playdate with Daddy and you are cockblocking me.”_

_“That’s disgusting”_ Carl cried out with a grimace.

_“Deal with it kid, ain’t nothing wrong with two men going at it.”_

_“I don’t care about it being a man, I care that it’s you.”_

The camera turned again, and the picture zoomed out revealing Negan leaning across a coffee table trying to get himself and Carl into the frame. _“See Rick, the little ballbuster is fine, I’ll be seeing you.”_ With a suggestive wink and a flick of his tongue against his lower lip the video ended. 

“See,” Negan stated, closing the camera. “Service, speaking of…” he turned away to eye the walkers who were almost upon them. “Go help with the pick-up while I do what you pay me so handsomely to do.” He placed the camera back into his pocket before leaving to retrieve Lucille, leaving Rick’s axe where it was. “Oh, and Rick?” He called and Rick turned in time to watch him gleefully cave in the skull of a walker. “After this, I want my answer.” 

For a moment, Rick had thought Negan had forgotten but he shakes his head. It was only more mind games to keep him guessing so he could never be ahead of Negan, he would always be one step behind. 

He stops, momentarily confused and looks around feeling nauseous. A heavy-set man with short brown hair with a plump face and nasty sneer glares at him by the open gate. He suddenly remembers Negan’s order and because of it he slows his pace as he walks over to the gate, small victories. The man, he’s heard his name uttered once but hadn’t remembered it, grabs his chin and he snaps his head away as though slapped. 

“We’ve been waiting hours because of you,” the man complains. “Now why don’t you show us what you’ve brought us?” He stands to Rick’s right and clutches the junction between Rick’s neck and shoulder, his short fat fingers digging into his skin. Rick’s lips twist into a sneer of his own and his hands shake in impotent rage as the minion presses close against him before shoving him towards the boxes. 

He doesn’t help, he can’t bring himself to. He lingers by the van feeling dizzy wondering if it’s heatstroke. He rubs his forehead and his skin feels clammy.

“Not bad,” one of the minions speaks as three of them, two males and a female ransack their supplies. 

“We had to go pretty far,” Rick mumbles underneath his breath wondering how far down the food chain he had fallen when he had to answer to mini Negans. 

“The hell’s this?” The blonde female asks in a bored tone, unfolding a piece of lined A4 paper. Rick shrugs, caught off guard. “Congrats for winning but you still lose?” She read and threw him a venomous glare. The fat one takes issue with it and grabs the note off the female and approaches, face red with fury.

“You leave us a little love note?” 

Rick refuses to take a step back to Negan so he most certainly wouldn’t give up ground to one of his stooges. “What, no,” he holds a calming hand out as if it could possibly defuse the situation. “I just…I mean… I wouldn’t…obviously.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, speech slurring on the fragmented sentences. 

“Did you just say it’s obvious?” The minion demands with a pointed finger before clutching fistfuls of his shirt and slamming him against the side of the truck. He keeps Rick there, pressing against him with his hands still fisted. 

Rick’s world spins and he has half a mind to throw up on the fat bastard. “I didn’t do that.”

“It’s not about the damn note,” he practically growls, spit flying from his mouth and landing on Rick’s cheek. He steps closer, his accusatory pointed finger now pressed against Rick’s chin and lower lip while Rick’s hands remain useless by his sides. “How are you gonna make it up to me, prick?” Rick hasn’t got a response as he’s too surprised by Negan giving his men carte blanche in regards to himself. “You’re real pretty, nice soft lips.” He moves even closer pressing his bulging crotch against his thigh. “Hell, I don’t even mind if your Negan’s sloppy seconds.” He whispers into his ear and then nuzzles his neck, his beard scraping against Rick’s tender throat. “You smell rank, not that it matters hey, cum slut?” There is malicious glee in the dark eyes before him and surprising all Rick feels is betrayed. “Pucker those lips, pretty boy, give ol’ Davey a kiss.” Rick leans away as far as he can until his head is touching the van but still Davey leans forward, lips pursed intent on making contact. 

He considers squeezing his eyes shut to block out what is being done to him until he sees a tall dark-haired leather clad figure in his peripheral vision. He keeps his eyes open and moments later Lucille is swinging into his line of sight, catching Davey in the side of the head, the barbed wire tearing his cheek open, puncturing his left eye and tearing his eyelid in two spraying blood onto Rick’s face. 

Davey falls to the ground and Rick turns and vomits the very little he had in his stomach. Negan is incensed as he attacks Davey with the bat, viciously pounding his skull open and flattening brain matter into the dirt. He takes it in turns, kicking Davey in the stomach and then hitting what remained of his head with Lucille. It was needless overkill and he wasn’t smiling as he had when he murdered Glenn and Abraham instead fury was coiled in his muscles and laced in his movements. 

“What the fuck?!” Negan yelled, finally moving away from the corpse. “What the actual fuck?!” The air is thick with tension as everyone stands still not even daring to breathe. Negan remains on a rampage and drags the dark-skinned man who was loading the boxes by the front of his shirt. “Were you just gonna fucking watch?” He asks threateningly. “Were you all just gonna fucking watch? What the fuck is wrong with you?” He drives a knee into the man’s stomach and pushes him to the ground when he doubles over in pain. “That shit will not fly here, you see it happening then you shut that shit down or you get me. That shit is disgusting, you should all be a-fucking-shamed of yourselves, fuck!” Still mad he rounds on Davey’s corpse again delivering a swift kick to his ribs. “Aw shit, someone clean this shit up before a child sees.” 

The blonde woman runs at Negan’s command and grabs a leg while the dark-skinned man staggers to his feet and helps as they are largely responsible for what had happened. Rick stays against the van shell shocked and panting, mentally taken back to that night on his knees when his world fell apart. His cheek is gently patted and he comes back to himself and stares into Negan’s concerned hazel eyes.

“I am truly sorry about that and it will not happen again.” Rick can only blink owlishly confused by Negan’s abhorrence for rape and yet he saw no wrong in sexual coercion. “You got that answer for me?” He asks, voice lowered as his tongue snakes across his lower lip. 

Rick nods still short of breath. “I do.” 

Negan makes a pleased sound before a wide smile grows across his lips lightening his face. “He said yes!” He announces happily though his minions look on in confusion still shocked over the death of one of their own. “Yes!” he cheers again, rejoicing in his own victory before holding his gloved hand out. “Your carriage awaits,” he offers magnanimously fashioning himself as some Disney prince. 

“What about Daryl?” Negan’s smile momentarily falters and his eyes narrow a fraction before he schools his features and smiles brightly once more. 

“Sure.” Is all he says and Rick takes his hand, feeling pathetic and cheap. “Load that shit up and let’s get the fuck outta here.” Negan calls out as they exit the gate and his men follow orders keeping their eyes to the ground afraid to look at him should they succumb to Negan’s wrath. “Daryl!” Negan calls and Rick keeps his head down staring at his scuffed and sodden boots. “Welcome home, I’ll be seeing you, let’s say two weeks, since I’ll be on my honeymoon.” He lifts their joint hands and presses a kiss to the back of Rick’s not in a loving gesture but to annoy Daryl. 

“What?” Daryl asks, confused. 

“I. Am. Setting. You. Free. You dumb redneck. You’re the new King Shit, enjoy it but remember you still belong to me.” There’s hesitation from Daryl but eventually he moves towards the gate, his gait slowed and staggered. 

“Can I talk to him?” Rick asks evenly but Negan’s eyes narrow. 

“No.” He states firmly. 

“Can I _please_ talk to him?” He amends needing to speak to Daryl to warn him not to defy Negan and simply to say goodbye. 

“No.” Negan states again, and begins tugging on his hand leading him towards one of the vans. He looks over his shoulder to see Daryl closing the gate, locking himself inside the Alexandria compound with a look of confusion on his dirty face. “Now I know you are not looking at him, Rick.” 

“I want to say goodbye,” he argues back. 

“I think he got the fucking message that you’re leaving, dipshit.” Rick stands his ground, determined but his defiance is wasted as his credibility has been lost as Negan grips the collar of his shirt no longer playing lovers but a man collaring a feral dog. He’s dragged towards the van at the end and hears his shirt tearing at the seams before it is released and he is shoved into the cab of the van and has to stop himself falling across the driver’s lap. Negan follows him in, effectively blocking his exit. “Hey Dwight, grab Rick’s axe!” He shouts before settling beside him. “You can have it back when you learn to fucking behave yourself.” Rick’s hands clench into fists and he bites his tongue desperately trying to quell his fiery temper. 

The driver reverses and he catches a look at him, brown eyes, moustache and short greying brown hair combed back making it look like he’d licked his finger and placed it into an electrical socket. Simon, if he’s not mistaken, Negan’s right-hand man. He turns his gaze towards the window as he wants to map the way to the Sanctuary, not that it could be of any use anymore but simply to see where it had all gone wrong. 

There’s a walker laid on the road, head flattened as they turn west and Simon gleefully drives over it, jostling Rick in his seat and sending him sideways into Negan. Negan makes a pleased moan before his arm snakes around Rick’s shoulders. Simon must have noticed, as Rick is sure he deliberately drives over every pothole and rough terrain he can find just so Rick is forced closer into Negan’s embrace. 

The drive is longer than he had expected, and if he’s not mistaken he had highlighted the surrounding area as potential hotspots which would have obviously been rendered useless in such close proximity to the Sanctuary. He’s confused as he was quite sure it was an industrial area but as they turn down a long stretch of road he can see there is a large factory ahead on the right. 

“Home sweet home,” Negan sing-songs, catching his line of sight. Rick’s right leg is over Negan’s due to the bumpy ride and Negan squeezes his thigh as he returns nuzzling his neck as he had been doing the entire journey. His skin feels enflamed where Negan’s beard has scratched against it but he chooses to remain silent as it keeps Negan busy and quiet. 

When they pull up Rick is awed by the size of the building and the many people milling about. The place was a colossal people factory and made him fully aware of the enormity of his mistake. Negan gives his thigh one final squeeze before moving his leg and stepping out of the van holding his hand out like a perfect gentleman. Rick ignores it and climbs from the van looking around at his greatest folly as the two other vans park up. 

“Dad!” He turns in time to see Carl break free from the man holding him and run the risk of the maze of walkers chained as a deterrent to others. There are people among them, dressed as Daryl had been, in dirty cream coloured sweaters, pulling the walkers away so Carl can pass safely. 

Rick watches in horror, breath ragged and feeling faint. He holds his arms out in relief when Carl crosses without incident but before they can embrace a large man catches Carl around the waist and turns while Negan steps in front of him holding a hand against his chest. 

“No, you don’t look at him and you don’t talk to him until I say so.” 

“He’s my son!”

“ _Our_ son.”

“Like fuck he is you bastard!” He doesn’t know what comes over him but he takes a sloppy swing at Negan that is easily avoided. His muscles ache and tears sting his eyes as he staggers forward falling into Negan’s open arms as he hasn’t the energy to stand or fight. 

“Ooh feisty, we’ll be in the bedroom soon, princess.” Negan squeezes his ass for show in front of his men and he hears their dirty sniggers and Carl’s indignant whines. “Dwight, take cyclops and round up the others.”

“Don’t…please don’t.” He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, using useless pleas that had failed him before. He just wants it to stop and he knows it isn’t going to and he feels so sick and helpless and he can’t stand it. 

“I ain’t doing a damn thing, now suck it up buttercup, I wanna show you something real cool.” He pushes him away from the walker maze over towards some rusted steel steps and forces him to climb with his hand firmly kept on his lower back. When they reach the cement platform, Negan gets ahead of him and opens the steel door that squeaks on its hinges and steps inside. He stands sentry at the door as Rick steps inside suddenly aware of the murmur of many voices as Negan closes the door behind him. Negan leans into him so close his lips brush the shell of his ear. “Check this out,” he whispers before walking over to the railing overlooking the workplace floor. Rick comes to stand by his side and watches over a hundred people take the knee in Negan’s presence, Dwight and his son included. 

“The Saviours have gone out into the world and fought the dead and come back with some really good stuff. Some of that stuff could be yours if you work hard and…” he pauses to talk directly to Rick. “Play by the rules.” He turns back to his captive audience. “Today everybody gets fresh vegetables at dinner no points needed.” The gathered applaud and Negan turns his back to them, leaning against the railing and licks his lips as he eyes Rick. “See that? Respect. Do you remember what that was like?” He taunts while Rick glares at the misplaced ping pong table in the corner. “They are still on their knees,” he states gleefully before stomping his boot on the floor. “As you were!” he shouts over his shoulder and walks away. Rick shares a look with Carl hoping to convey all he could not say before Negan returned, grasping the back of his neck and led him further inside the Sanctuary. 

“Damn, for how good you look you are fucking unfit, panting like a bitch all the way up those stairs.” Negan states and he leads him into a room with military grey walls. He enters, mindlessly still short of breath and staggers to the left and props himself up against a four-poster bed. His world spins and he collapses onto the bed behind Negan’s back. 

“So eager, I love that!” Negan cheers and begins taking off his red scarf and unzipping his leather jacket while Rick lays helpless, feeling breathless and sick. “I was gonna be a gentleman and wait for our wedding night but now it’s like all my Christmases have come at once! You celebrate Christmas, Rick?” He asks over his shoulder before shrugging his leather jacket off. “You seem the type, I could picture you in a fucking ugly jumper smiling a cheesy grin for family photos. You ignoring me?” He asks annoyed and turns. “Rick?” He takes a hesitant step forward as Rick can only stare at him, eyes wide and fearful as he fights for breath. “Rick?” Negan asks, panicked and approaches the bed, pushing him onto his back and prying his mouth open with two fingers. “What have you taken?” Negan demands angrily and slaps him across the face. “You are not leaving me, you hear me? Fuck you, Rick, fuck you!” He can feel one of Negan’s arms cradle his back while his other arm slips behind his knees and he tries to lift him in the bridal carry but soon drops him. “Shit, you’re heavier than you look.” Rick turned his head and vomited on the quilt. “Nice, come here darlin’, let’s get you fixed up.” Negan grabs hold of his hand and drags him off the bed onto his shoulders into a fireman carry and straightens with his right arm curled behind his knees and clutching Rick’s right wrist. 

Rick assumes he must have passed out as he is being carried down a corridor and Carl is shouting obscenities at Negan. “Fuck kid, stop being so fucking hysterical, get the doctor!”

“I don’t know where he is!” Carl states in a panic. 

“Fucking run screaming until you get the attention of someone who can actually fucking do something. I’m off to the medical bay.”

“Dad,” Carl chokes and Rick can feel him touch his arm but his muscles ache and he cannot move. 

“Get the doctor!” Negan screams and he can hear Carl run away shouting for help. 

Rick gathers he blacked out again as he comes to falling from Negan’s shoulders and landing on a black leather medical chair. 

“Help him,” Negan orders with a touch of desperation in his voice. “If he dies, you die!” The next thing Rick sees is Negan’s face warring between anger and concern looming over him. “If you dare leave me I will burn Alexandria to the ground and kill every single one of them and then I’ll kill your son.” Rick’s vision begins to fade as he feels his eyes roll back. “Rick!” and then there is nothing but darkness.


	5. Nice Day For A White Wedding

Rick blinked open his eyes and stared at the ceiling while his eyes adjusted, clouded from sleep. His mind was muddled as he tried to piece together what had happened and where he was. He was laid on a single bed, the mattress hard beneath his back and the thin white quilt drawn up to his chest. He was naked except for a pair of shorts, either too small or boxer briefs that he did not wear. He turned his head to the left, as his body felt deadweight and he eyed the white walls that had been recently painted judging by the solvent still lingering in the air. The paintwork was haphazard, the brushstrokes following no apparent pattern appearing to be the work of someone in a rush. A second coat was necessary as the hue of mustard was still visible. 

He turned his eyes towards the door, white again, he was sensing a theme. It was closed and hung from the back of it was a tuxedo. “Lori?” He asked, confused and tried to move his heavy limbs. His right hand was trapped and he turned to see a large hand covering it entirely. “Dad?” He questioned following the length of the arm to a figure laid in an armchair beside the bed. His long legs were extended while his head was thrown back in slumber, his short dark hair in disarray while his salt and pepper beard framed a devilishly smiling mouth. 

A hazel eye snapped open at his question. “Dad? How the fuck old do you think I am?” Rick groaned as his memories came back to him crashing through his thoughts like a tidal wave. The armchair legs scuffed against the wooden floor as Negan scooted himself and the chair closer to the bed, hand still resting over Rick’s. “I’ll be your daddy if you want me to be.” He offered with a wink and a lewd grin. “You wanna kiss me?” He asked leaning over the bed, his lips hovering above his own as they shared the same breath. 

“Where’s Carl?” He asked roughly, throat dry.

Negan groaned in disappointment and sat properly in his seat. “Denied,” he stated shaking his head with an amused grin. “Don’t worry the boy wonder is sleeping in the ward right next door. You need a drink, Rick? Your voice is sounding like you deep throated a chainsaw.” Rick ignored the sexual undertones in Negan’s words and nodded his head. 

He tried to sit up when Negan walked over to the pitcher and poured him a glass of water before returning to his side. He panics when Negan cradles the back of his head convinced he would be waterboarded at any given second but the water torture does not come instead a glass is pressed to his dry lips as Negan helps him to drink. “Had enough?” Negan asks and Rick nods, causing Negan to set the glass onto the floor and take his seat once more and take his hand. 

“How long was I out?” 

“Three days,” Negan replies solemnly. 

“What happened?” 

“Sepsis, blood poisoning for us fucking laymen.” Negan lifts his bandaged right hand he was holding and presses a kiss against the back of it. “This shit needs to stop now,” he kisses each heavily bandaged knuckle reverently. “You could have died, Rick, that shit is serious. The antibiotics cleared it up but if it was left any longer…you aren’t fucking leaving me, ever, I forbid it. You are mine.” Negan growls the latter possessively. 

“’Till death do us part, right?” He offers offhanded, spooked by Negan’s passion. 

“Right.” Negan agrees and presses a final kiss against the back of his hand. “It’s about time you made an honest man of me, pay the piper as it were.” 

“What…I thought…?” Rick trailed off confused as he was convinced they were already married by simply saying I do. 

Negan laughs and stands from his seat and leans over the bed. “Get up, get dressed and meet me in the chapel, dollface.” He presses a kiss against his forehead before winking and sauntering out of the room collecting Lucille by the door. 

Rick pulls the covers aside and sits up dangling his legs off the side and drops his head into his hands. He’s still half convinced he hasn’t woken and this is all a figment of his imagination, why else would there be a chapel in a used factory? Negan struck him as a heathen and his response towards Father Gabriel was almost comedic. There are, however, many normal people within the Sanctuary, young and old families just trying to get by and cling to any hope they can find wherever that may be. Perhaps it was built for their benefit and Negan simply exploited the privilege just because he could. 

“Dad?” A shaky voice comes from the doorway and Rick lifts his head to see Carl lingering there. His hat is gone, and his eye remains uncovered though it is shielded by his hair. There’s a black tie hanging loosely around his neck, knotted and misplaced.

“Carl,” as far as reunion greetings go, his response was poor. He climbed off the bed, his legs aching from the added weight, and held his arms out for the hug that was denied him. 

“Why did you do it?” Carl asks, sad and accusatory as he remained by the door rejecting his embrace. 

“Carl, no.” Tears sting his eyes as he realises Carl had mistaken his intent. He takes a painful step forward and then another. “It isn’t what you think.”

“You tried to leave me!” Carl yells back, lips trembling as he fights his emotions. Rick can’t help but stare at his soft features so very like his mother’s and sees for the first time in a long time how very young he was. He’d been forced to grow up quickly when the world went to hell and it had hardened his heart and stolen his innocence. He did not want to add to the burden as it was his job to protect his son. 

“I would never leave you,” he speaks honestly, approaching his son and pulling him into his arms and rests their foreheads together. “I love you. It was an accident and it will never happen again.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“I love you too.” Rick holds him tighter afraid to let him go. “Err dad? You can let go now, you’re in your underwear and it’s a bit weird.” Rick laughs and lets go and turns his eyes towards the tuxedo hanging from the door. 

It was just his luck that a tuxedo would survive a zombie apocalypse. He takes it down from the door and notices the waistcoat is wrong, grey against the black, clashing not complimenting so he tosses it aside. The trousers are too long and ironed, he folds the bottoms discreetly. The over-starched white shirt is only the next size up so he buttons it thankful for the space around his neck. The black jacket is his size and he realises despite its look and how it will look, the outfit was pieced together and not an actual tuxedo, small victories. 

He lays the jacket on the bed and approaches the mirror on the left wall to fiddle with the bow tie. He can see Carl’s reflection in the mirror stood stock-still, mouth agape and eye wide open in shock. He can understand Carl’s confusion, as he had never cowered before an enemy and always resorted to violence to get things done but it was that route that had led him on the path to Negan. Every man had his breaking point and he had found his on his knees with an axe raised to sever his only son’s arm. 

After two failed attempts, he finally ties the bow correctly and then pulls the jacket on and buttons it. There aren’t any appropriate shoes and his boots are gone, possibly destroyed so he makes do with the ankle boots that were there and looks in the mirror. He grimaces. He looks old with his grey beard and there is a deathly pallor to his skin and his dark hair is curled and in disarray. He uses the pitcher of water to wet his hair and drags his fingers through it attempting to tame the curls and when he looks into the mirror again he sees a hollow man reduced to a plaything. 

“Do you know where the chapel is?” He asks Carl, preventing his voice from wavering and making one last nervous adjustment to the bow tie. 

“Yeah, he showed me.” He follows Carl out into a ward where there were several beds running the length of the room on both sides with only two current patients. One of the beds nearest his room had been slept in but there was no sign of the patient and his heart ached knowing that Carl had slept there in fear he may never awaken. 

He follows Carl out of the ward, along a corridor, down a flight of stairs and halfway along another corridor before they stop. The chapel is an old office with several square windows that make up the wall smashed out. The remaining windows are covered in dirt and impossible to see through so he grabs the door handle until Carl knocks his hand away. 

“Dad, you don’t have to do this.”

“Carl,” he says nothing else, he can’t find the words. 

“You’re still sick, he should leave you alone. We should go while he least expects it, the others will help and we’ll kill him. I’ll personally kill him for what he’s done to you.” Rick regards his son with a mixture of pride and fear.

“It’s not your place to save me, and I am going in that room, for you.”

“What about our family? What about Judith?” Carl’s voice breaks in emotion and Rick feels tears well in his eyes.

“Keep your voice down, Judith is better off where she is and it’s just you and me now. You are my first priority, they are still family and I’ll still fight with every breath in my body to keep them safe but I will do so from the other side of the trenches.” He grabs his son’s shoulders and stares at him desperately. “I need you on my side.”

“I-I don’t agree with it,” Carl stuttered, head down. “But I’m with you.” He links their arms in a strange show of comradery. “Negan says I have to give you away,” he answers Rick’s questioning look and the mystery of the odd tie is solved. 

Carl opens the door and steps inside and Rick soon follows as their arms are linked. He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting as he eyes the dirty office. A few chairs have been put together either side making some form of an aisle that leads to a desk where a man stands dressed in black but with no collar. Simon suddenly appears, smiling widely with the video camera in his hand while Rick tries his best not to scowl down the lens. 

He glares at Negan’s back, as the man shifts excitedly still wearing his leather jacket. To the left stand six women with various hair colours and of different ethnicities. Though their differences are aplenty they are all clad in scandalous black dresses and are beautiful. For a brief moment, he thinks Negan is belittling him, giving him bridesmaids until he sees the haunted expression on their faces and realises they must be Negan’s wives. 

Carl is silent and stoic beside him and he appreciates his strength and he takes from it, quelling his unrest and panicked heart, and breathing much easier. He needed Carl’s support in this decision and having it, not in its entirety but knowing Carl understood was enough for him to see this through. 

Lucille is resting on the first chair to the right with daisies pushed into the barbed wire. He rolls his eyes and catches Negan’s gaze and watches his eyes rake down his body like scratches enflaming his skin. Negan returns his stare after his assessment and wets his bottom lip before grinning like the Cheshire Cat. He holds his arm out and reluctantly Rick grasps his elbow while he releases his hold on Carl, the gesture is supposed to be symbolic but Negan could think again if he ever thought he came before Carl. 

“This is it,” Negan leans down to whisper in his ear. “The end of the line. You’re mine now, forever.” He presses a quick kiss against his cheek before straightening and looking ahead. Rick mimics him and takes a deep steadying breath as he feels lightheaded and his stomach is knotted with nerves. 

“We are gathered here today to witness the holy matrimony between Negan and Rick, whose love for one another…”

“Can the sap, can’t you see Rick is eager for bed?” Negan interrupts wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Very well,” the false pastor replied sternly with a tight smile as fake as the rest of him. “Repeat after me, I Negan, take you, Rick to by my husband. To have and to hold…”

“Short version.” Negan barked. 

The pastor impersonator gave an exasperated sigh. “Do you have the rings?” Simon approached Negan and placed a ring in his hand while his other hand still held the video camera with the red recording light shining like a demon. “Turn and face one another,” they do so easily though Rick finds it taxing to lift his head and look Negan in the eye. “Take Rick’s left hand and place the ring on his fourth finger and repeat, ‘with this ring, I thee wed.’” 

The wedding band is thick and silver and one of the wives, a young frail girl with long straight blonde hair and big doe eyes bursts into tears upon seeing it. He can only assume the ring once belonged to her true husband and he feels terrible for wearing it but there is little he can do. 

Negan wears a devious smile when he pushes the ring onto Rick’s finger, delighting in the girl’s misery. “With _this_ ring, I thee wed.” The girl is beside herself and though the others share a look of concern they will not coddle her while under Negan’s scrutiny. 

The speaker eyes him patiently though he has no ring to give, and Negan already wore a silver wedding ring, old and worn, from a different time. Negan takes it off with relative ease suggesting he toys with it regularly and he passes it to him. He takes Negan’s left hand without thinking, numbing himself to current events and places the ring back on, ignoring the inscription on the inside as it was never meant for him to see. 

“With this ring, I thee wed.” He says the words without feeling, his heart already aching for the weeping blonde off to his side. 

“By the power vested in me by God and man, I now pronounce you man and husband.” It’s ridiculous and bullshit, the man isn’t even a pastor and he wonders if it is a crime for impersonating a member of the clergy. Probably not unless money passed hands then he could do him for fraud but money has no use in this new world and neither unfortunately does the law. 

“You wanna kiss me?” Negan asks as if it is his choice and it never was and never had been. He kisses Negan regardless, seizing control wherever he can and is hyperaware of the camera recording them. He half expects Negan to take liberties as he is wont to do but there is only the barest hint of tongue within the kiss before he pulls away eyes heavy-lidded and with a satisfied smile. He looks…happy. 

“If you’ll both like to sign,” the false pastor speaks and references the table with an elaborate sweep of his arm. Negan leaves his side and steps behind the table eagerly taking up a pen and presumably signs his name though to what he can’t be sure. 

“Your turn,” Negan tells him, holding out the pen. Curiosity gets the better of him and he walks around the table and looks at the paper baulking when he realises it is a marriage certificate. The how’s and where’s are barely given thought as he simply shakes his head no. “Rick,” Negan uses his name in warning and Rick meets his gaze defiantly knowing better but he cannot help himself. He thought saying ‘I do’ would be enough, though it is Negan and he should have expected the bells and whistles, still, he will not purposely commit bigamy. 

“Sign,” Negan insists, features no longer soft but hardened in anger as he presses the pen into his injured right hand. The pressure is forceful not painful though the unspoken threat is there. The potential for harm is always there and the way Negan takes a none-too-subtle look at Carl has Rick leaning over the desk and signing his name. Only Rick, bastardising the contract as Negan had by only writing Negan. 

“Atta boy,” Negan pats him on the back as if he’s a dog that has just performed a new trick. “Simon, change the setting to stills, I wanna get some shots with my new husband and some with my kid too.” Rick scowls as the torture continues. Winning was never enough for Negan, even with his enemy defeated he would poke the beast desperate for a reaction. 

In their first picture, he is scowling as Negan places a hand over his as he pretends to sign his name in a traditional pose while both should be smiling happily at the camera. He’s directed to kiss Negan in the next one, just a chaste kiss as their hands are still clasped and then a picture of their left hands joint in matrimony. 

When Negan goes over to Carl his heart pounds in his chest in fear that Carl would not be able to rein in his temper. The animosity radiates off Carl in waves but it’s simply water off a duck’s back to Negan as he slings a companionable arm around Carl’s shoulder and smiles winningly. He joins them for a ‘family’ photo despising every step he takes and he swallows what is left of his pride as he tries to smile for Carl’s sake not for Negan’s, never for Negan.

Negan decides to take pictures among his wives indiscriminately, mentally torturing them all. He takes Carl aside while Negan is distracted and though he has so much to say words fail him and he hugs Carl, holding him tight against his chest. 

“Aww, now ain’t that just fucking cute. Room for a little one?” They’re given no time to answer as Negan’s arms come around them both and Simon takes another picture without consent. Negan hugs them both tightly and then presses a kiss to Carl’s forehead and he feels his heart plummet. Carl’s precarious grip on his anger was slipping as Negan baited him, he could see the tension mounting in his shoulders and saw his hands squeeze into fists and knew he had to intervene. 

“Can we go now?” He asks directly towards Negan, trying for flirtation but failing miserably. 

Negan takes a step back, not in humour but genuinely caught off guard by Rick’s offer. “Fuck yeah,” his response is gleeful as his arms drop from his and Carl’s shoulders and he takes his hand instead. “Sorry ladies and gentleman but my spouse is eager to consummate the marriage, as you were.” He throws over his shoulder and takes the camera from Simon placing it into his pocket and collects Lucille.

He shares one last look with Carl and manages a tight smile showing no fear in the face of adversary and instilling a sense of calm he did not feel before being pulled from the room. 

He guesstimates that Negan’s quarters are somewhere in the middle of the factory not at the top as he had believed in his fevered mind when he was taken there before. He lived in the heart of the beast, not at the head of the beast, which was both telling and interesting, or it was neither and he was trying desperately to distract himself from what was about to happen. 

When they enter Negan’s room he can finally appreciate the décor as he’d taken a nosedive into the mattress on his first visit. The room is tasteful, modern adorned with art deco furniture and a white marble faux fireplace. He’d expected something ostentatious and tacky with loud neon colours in your face like an artistic interpretation of the man himself. He can only assume he had help and a far better painter than the one who half-assed the walls in the ward. 

Negan walks over to the end of the bed and by the far wall is a dresser where he places Lucille and then he shrugs out of his jacket and drops it on the chair by the dresser. There are two doors that grab his attention, one he assumes is the bathroom but the other is a mystery. Negan collects the camera from his jacket pocket and then jumps onto the bed patting the space beside him. Rick’s skin crawls and he turns to eye the mounted head of a stag and wonders when this was all over if his head would be joining the others mounted on the wall. 

“You ignoring me, Princess? You ignoring your loving husband?” Words get caught in his throat as he cannot give a definitive answer. “I’m pretty fucking lonesome over here babydoll.” He grimaces at the pet name and Negan crows in victory. “You feeling okay? You can get more rest if you want, shit, I was just so eager to marry you in case you flaked out on me. Sucks, doesn’t it?” Negan asked and Rick finally turned his head to eye him sat up on the bed. 

“What does?”

“Realising I’m not the monster you think I am. The bed is yours, Rick, whatever happens in it is up to you.” 

“And…if I want to…?” Rick forced the words out suddenly bashful and he resented himself. 

“If you want to what, Rick?” Negan teased and Rick managed a glare in his direction. “You wanna fuck me? ‘cause I wanna fuck you. That first night I saw you on your knees, fuck I wanted you, it just tickled my balls when Simon pointed you out. The prick himself, pissing himself or maybe that was just a cum stain, did I make you hard, Rick?” Rick shook his head and fought the tremors of rage he felt thrumming through his body. “The way you were trembling,” Negan carries on, stroking a hand over his bulging crotch without a care in the world. “I made you spend all that excess energy on the walkers when I should have bent you over that table. No, I’m a fucking gentleman, I’d lay you down on the seat, nice soft cushions against your back. I’d wanna see your face when I slipped my dick inside you. You’d probably still be stretched and wet from Daryl, fucking slut like you always wants more though and more you shall have. I should have given it to you hard, kept thinking about your legs wrapped around me, needy slut, whimpering, begging me to take you with me. Should have fucking listened, having you sink down on my cock would have been the sweetest victory and tasting defeat on your lips…fuck you were beautiful that night.” 

Rick was breathing heavily by the time Negan had finished and he realised with horror that Negan’s words had stirred him. He tried to shake off the weight of the other man’s stare but he was trapped like a deer caught in the headlights. Negan climbed off the bed, leaving the camera on the mattress and approached him, obliterating his personal space as they stood chest to chest. Rick kept his head down gaze averted, submissive, while he tried to keep his limbs loose to belie the tension he felt. 

Negan’s gloved right hand pressed beneath his chin, lifting his head up and forcing him to meet the other man’s eyes. “If you don’t want this just say no.” Negan whispered against his lips and then kissed him softly. It was chaste, a demonstration of his self-restraint giving Rick ample opportunity to pull away which he did not do. Instead he tilted his head and opened his mouth beneath Negan’s lips allowing the older man to deepen the kiss, which he did, moaning into his mouth as his hands came up to push the jacket from his shoulders. 

Rick allowed the jacket to fall to the floor as Negan’s hand slipped below his waistline, fisting the material of his trousers and pulled him towards the bed. Negan sat down on the mattress, legs spread apart, pulling Rick to stand in between them as his untucked Rick’s shirt. Rick took his cue from Negan, firstly discarding the tie and then he began unbuttoning the shirt as Negan lifted the bottom exposing his flat stomach. He paused when Negan pressed his lips against his belly and felt a shiver of excitement run through his body as Negan tongued his bellybutton while maintaining eye contact with him. 

Rick’s cock twitched with interest and he finished unbuttoning his shirt and shrugged out of it, tossing it negligently onto the floor. His stomach tightened as Negan ran his tongue from his navel to the waistline of his trousers that hung dangerously low on his hips before he tackled the button and fly. Rick toed off the ankle boots and moments later the trousers fell down his legs and he stepped out of them and kicked them away. Negan’s hands grabbed the globes of his ass squeezing once, twice, before pulling him onto his lap so his knees were either side of Negan’s thighs. 

“Sexy slut,” Negan growled breathlessly and kissed him quick and rough. “No more fucking around. You cannot cheat on me.” There is genuine hurt behind the words but Rick is lost, once again accused of doing things he hadn’t even done. A short sharp slap to his cheek has him glaring at Negan. “Speak when you’re spoken to,” his mouth opens but no words are forthcoming. “You will not cheat on me.”

“I will not cheat on you,” he mimics but Negan’s eyes narrow and he turns, shoving Rick onto his back onto the mattress while he stands. 

“Fucking right.” He spits resentfully before lifting his tight white T-shirt and throwing it to the floor. He kicks his boots off and as he wrestles with his belt, Rick eyes his torso. There’s a large cross decorating his right arm and on the left an angel ascending to heaven. There’s a detailed skull over his heart and the name Lucille tattooed on his right forearm and he notices all the ink is old, the tattoos belonged in another time in a different world. 

“You like what you see?” Negan asks stroking his hand down the valley of his abdominals. Rick simply nods unsure how to express that he found a male aesthetically pleasing. His decisive nod causes a smirk to cross Negan’s lips and he bites onto his lower lip before he drops his jeans, immediately exposing himself without the benefit of underwear. “Just fucking raring to go.” He strokes a hand along the length of his cock and try as he might, Rick cannot look away. He feels his ass hole tighten at the thought of Negan’s ample length and thick girth inside of him, remembering the fulfilling stretch of three of his fingers. 

While he’s distracted, Negan climbs onto the bed and crawls up his body, planting a kiss on his lips when they are face to face while reaching for something hidden beneath the pillow. He barely catches sight of the tube concealed in Negan’s right hand and sees only the first three letters S U R before Negan is pressing kisses down his chest down to his navel where he tongues his bellybutton before smiling devilishly up at him, lips glistening in the weak light. Rick raises his hips as Negan grips the hem of his briefs in both hands and pulls them off with a flourish before settling between his thighs. 

When nothing happens, he notices with disappointment that Negan has the camera in his hand and is changing the settings. He drops his head back onto the pillow with a sigh of annoyance as his cock is hard and aching between his legs. Something cold is placed on his stomach and he looks to see that Negan has used him as a stand as he licks at his inner thighs, his beard rough against the delicate skin. Rick’s legs part further, his muscles trembling from the stretch and hole twitching in anticipation of Negan’s tongue. It does not come, instead Negan nuzzles his scrotum while a finger, gloveless and wet teases the rim of his anus. Rick pushes back against it, reckless and wanton, uncaring how desperate he looked.

“Ooh Rick,” Negan laughs lifting his head to look at the camera. “You wanna fuck my mouth, baby?” the term of endearment is wrong and grating on his nerves but he realises it wasn’t meant for him, it was for the camera, for the porno Negan was so determined to make. He wished he had destroyed that camera as he always feared it falling into the wrong hands but in Negan’s hands his fears had not been realised. 

His back arches, camera almost tumbling from his stomach as Negan grazes his teeth against the head of his penis. He shakes his head in denial of his broken moan as Negan plays between his fears and his fantasy, removing his teeth and sucking the head of his weeping cock. A second finger joins the first and spreads out opening him up and he realises he isn’t afraid. Sex was easy, simple, a primal need, thoughtless, instinctual, it didn’t mean anything when he ran his fingers through Negan’s hair to grasp the strands and push his head down so he would swallow his cock. It didn’t negatively impact on him squirming on Negan’s fingers because it was what it was. It was only about orgasms and chasing the euphoric high, anything else was lost in translation, had to be, because if this was something else he could not cope. 

His grip on Negan’s hair is loose and his hand is easily batted away as Negan removes his mouth and eyes him- not the camera- with smouldering dark eyes as he perversely licks his essence from his lips. He takes the camera from his stomach with his left hand and records himself pressing a third finger inside him. It slides in easier than the first time they tried this as his hole is suitably stretched and the fear he had felt that first time was replaced by want so palpable he could taste it in the air. 

“Fucking gorgeous,” Negan suddenly says, teasing his rim with a fourth finger while he moves the camera up the length of his writhing body. “My husband, fuck me, I’m one lucky son of a bitch. Do you love me, Rick?” Rick’s eyes snap open at the question and he stares at Negan in fear but Negan only laughs, low and humourlessly. “Don’t worry you will. Now how about we consummate our marriage?” Rick nods and Negan tosses the camera aside, open and still recording as he removes his fingers and takes up the discarded tube of lubricant. He squeezes the gel into his hand and coats his cock shivering at his own touch before kneeling between Rick’s thighs and pressing the head of his cock against his wet stretched hole. 

The thought of protection briefly crosses Rick’s mind but as soon as it arrived it had gone as the head of Negan’s cock entered him and he pressed forward with a bruising grip on his hips. The feeling was intense but for the past three years Rick’s body had not been his own. He had been turned into a living breathing weapon to survive and now as surplus to requirement he was reduced to a body to be fucked. 

“Rick, look at me.” He opens his eyes not realising he had squeezed them shut and found Negan looming over him. “There’s those baby blues,” with a snap of his hips, Rick is impaled completely. “You wanna kiss me?” He nods, delirious wanting more and less at the same time. The kiss is sloppy, lacking finesse and he tastes himself on Negan’s tongue and moans into his mouth. His cock twitches, trapped between both their bellies and he pulls in deep lung-full breaths as Negan presses kisses down his jaw and throat and nibbles on his Adam’s apple. 

“I want…I want,” he pants breathlessly unsure of what he wanted only knowing that he wanted something. 

“Ask and you shall receive.” Negan states gleefully and rolls his hips experimentally picking up a rhythm of shallow thrusts and building, pulling out further and sliding back in, the friction against nerve endings igniting Rick’s blood. 

“Fuck me,” he growls challengingly, noticing the other man shudder. Negan doesn’t answer, just groans in approval and lifts his thighs forcing him to wrap his legs around his waist as he snaps his hips and strikes the bundle of nerves with precision. Rick grabs fistfuls of the quilt in fear he would reach for Negan as he surrenders himself to the pleasure allowing each and every moan that escapes his mouth enjoying the effect they had on Negan. 

He tries to reach for his cock between them, but they are too close, blending into one another. The friction of their bodies and the constant assault on his prostate gland tips him over the edge and he bites into the meat of Negan’s shoulder to stifle his cries as his cock coats both their chests in semen. Negan drills into him, root to tip, twice more before his body stills and Rick can feel his warm seed spill inside him as Negan crumbles and drops on top of him. 

They are both breathing heavily, Rick more so as he takes Negan’s weight until the man presses a kiss to his throat and pulls out of him and lays beside him enjoying the afterglow. He tries to but the cum coating his chest and thighs is a distraction and he shifts uncomfortably as his posterior hurts from their activities. Negan sighs, annoyed by his constant fidgeting and gets up off the bed and disappears through the second door to the left before reappearing clean with a damp washcloth and a glass of water. Rick sits up and accepts the water gratefully and drinks while Negan cleans him as though he was an incapable child. Afterward he retrieves the empty glass and returns to the bathroom and then to the bed, holding Rick tightly. 

“We’ll have dinner a little later,” Negan tells him and he is thankful as though he is famished he was sure he could not swallow a single bite. “Sleep now gorgeous,” Negan advises and lays down beside him. He steals a kiss from his pliant lips before closing his eyes and Rick can’t bring himself to care. He lays on his back, sick with himself for enjoying Negan’s attention. He tries to tell himself that Negan is to blame for destroying the blossoming relationship he had with Michonne, but it wasn’t true, not entirely. He could have fought harder, he could have worded his argument differently, he could have _tried_ but he didn’t. 

He turns to look at Negan, he was laid on his side facing him, eyes closed and breath light. He sits up and eyes his bandaged hand. He could unravel it, throw it around Negan’s neck and pull until the life drained from him and then throw his naked corpse out of the window as a warning to all. Strangely that scenario doesn’t appeal to him though he finds himself picking at the gauze wanting to get at the scabs beneath. He hisses when he catches one and delights when he sees red soaking through the bandage. 

He tries to pick another when his right hand is caught and left hand knocked away. “Fuck Rick! I close my eyes for five fucking minutes. Stop this, you wanna fucking leave Carl, is that it? You want me to be a single parent? We’re married now, I’ve the papers to prove it so you leave and Carl is mine, do you understand?” Negan pulls him into his arms and wipes at his tears he hadn’t known he had shed. “You are mine, that doesn’t mean I’m not yours. Fuck, I sound like a hallmark card, now can we get some fucking sleep, pretty fucking please?” Rick nods and lies down with Negan, facing one another, his right hand clasped between Negan’s hands as the video camera lies discarded on the bed still recording.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick question, those who were with me from the start know this was only supposed to be a one-shot so should I change my summary? Any input would be greatly appreciated, thanks :)


	6. Playing With Fire

Cracking his eyes open a fraction, Rick hissed as the light of the sun spilling in through the three square windows along the right wall burned his eyes. He squeezed them shut and rolled over away from the warmth of the sun and into an entirely other warmth. A tremor of unease ran down his spine, circled and settled like a deadweight in the pit of his stomach. 

“It’s alive,” a deep voice announced and his chuckle was like a rumble of thunder coursing throughout Rick’s entire being. “You wanna kiss me?” Negan asked in a rich purr as Rick opened his eyes and he leaned forward regardless of an answer, consenting or otherwise. “Fuck, your breath could kill a baby elephant. Always thought there was this fucking demented fairy, like the Tooth Fairy’s whacked-out cousin or some shit, that goes around at night crapping in people’s mouths.” A breath of laughter leaves his lips before he was able to stifle the sound. He dares a glance up at Negan and finds the man smiling widely having finally found a receptive audience for his crass mundane jokes. “Clean your teeth, gorgeous, Daddy wants round two.” 

He hesitates for a moment, but that’s all it was, a moment for a dog to run to the end of his leash testing his boundaries. He kicks off the covers and climbs off the bed as naked as the day he was born and collects the boxer briefs from the floor. They were not his own but it was something to hide behind, modesty be damned, the briefs were his armour as his strength and resolve had suffered terribly the night before. 

He goes into the bathroom, ignoring Negan’s wolf whistle in regards to his naked posterior and finds it functional but not lavish. It’s small, the floor is cement like the bedroom. There’s a shower to his immediate right and a closet to his immediate left that spans a third of the way down the wall, hiding a toilet at the end of the room. The sink in positioned opposite the toilet against the right wall, with a mirror high above it and a hamper and bin beside it.

“Hurry up Rick, this cock isn’t gonna suck itself!” He slams the door in lieu of an answer and looks for a lock that was not there. There are drill holes in the wood, four on the door and two on the frame suggesting there was once a deadbolt in place but that was gone now, in preparation for him or for some other poor sorry bastard that had captured Negan’s attention. 

He walks over to the sink and finds there are two toothbrushes, one used and one brand new sharing the same pot on a glass shelf below the mirror. It’s too domestic and it makes his skin crawl while sending his thoughts into a tailspin. He collects the new toothbrush, and squeezes the mint toothpaste onto it and brushes his teeth while staring at his haunted pale reflection. His right hand catches his eye and he realises the gauze has been replaced, as blood had soaked through the last one. It’s shoddy work, and the gauze had only been wrapped around twice unlike the padding he was given before. He knows without asking that Negan had taken care of his wounds and it unsettles him. He can’t find his equilibrium with Negan, he’s always on the backfoot left guessing. 

“Fuck Rick, you fall in? Don’t make me come in there and get you.” He continues to brush his teeth, small acts of defiance, the sweetest of insignificant victories. He rinses his mouth out and pulls on the boxer briefs before he exits the bathroom. 

Negan is exactly where he left him, laid on the bed in his dark denims and white T-shirt wearing a wolfish grin as he eyes Rick’s scantily clad body. The position of his body reveals he hadn’t moved an inch and proves that his threats were just white noise. It’s not enough for Rick to let his guard down and he circles the bed as Negan pats the mattress beside him encouraging him to take up the space he once occupied. 

It’s a foregone conclusion that he will join Negan on the bed, what he is doing now is pointless posturing as if he has any self-respect left. Negan had seen to that. All he can do is test the length of the invisible chain that binds him. “C’mere,” Negan drawls lazily and crooks his finger and he feels the tightening of the leash. 

He climbs onto the bed and kneels on it causing Negan to sit up with his dark eyes smouldering like the pits of hell. Negan reaches out his right hand-still gloveless- and plays with the hair below his navel while his eyes, calculating and hungry, never once leave his face, gauging the sincerity of his complicity. He lets out a moan as Negan slips his hand down his briefs and runs his hand down the length of his flaccid penis. He reaches for him then, grabbing fistfuls of his white shirt, forcing Negan to his knees as he kisses him. It’s more teeth than tongue but Negan doesn’t want a submissive he wants a sparring partner and Rick was prepared to meet him tit for tat. 

Knocking on the door makes Negan break the kiss. “Come in!” he hollers and moves his lips to Rick’s neck as he pushes the briefs down exposing Rick’s ass as the door opens. He can hear the clinking of pots as someone enters possibly with a tray held with an unsteady hand. Rick ignores the person knowing Negan meant to humiliate him, but if he allows it, if he plays along then the control passes to him and he can be master of his own destiny again. Negan snorts, possibly in derision, he hasn’t quite grasped all of Negan’s expressions and reactions. Negan moves his hands to his ass, cupping a cheek in each hand before he parts them, exposing his abused hole, wet with Negan’s seed and red from his attention, to their guest. 

Rick squeezes his eyes shut and swallows the bile that rose in his throat. He wants to push Negan away and cover himself but that is what Negan wants. A clatter of dishes over by the coffee table makes him turn his head and his eyes widen in horror as Carl stares back at him. 

“You bastard!” He shouts, shoving Negan away and quickly wraps himself in the quilt. Carl remains by the table, mouth agape with a look of horror while Negan laughs obnoxiously. Rick presses his back against the headboard, looking between tormentor and son. Carl’s hands are fisted by his sides and for a moment his hand strayed to the sheath at his hip to clutch a hunting knife that was no longer there. “Just go!” He hisses, despising the look of hurt and betrayal on Carl’s face and he hopes he understands. Carl hesitates before snatching something from the couch, he pointedly glares at Negan as he puts his hat back on and then leaves the room slamming the door in his wake. 

“Why did you do that for?” He hates how hurt he sounds. 

“Oh come on, Rick.” Negan begins, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Kid walking in on their parents going at it is a fucking rite of passage. You should thank me.” Rick merely glares, lips forming into a scowl. “Thank me,” Negan reiterates without the mocking lilt to his voice. 

“Fuck you.” 

“Be careful.” Negan warns and climbs off the bed and pulls his leather jacket on. “I’ve given you some leeway and you’ve taken fucking advantage of that so it’s about time you calm the fuck down and learnt your place, _husband._ ”

“And what is my place, _husband?_ ” He replies spitefully. He’s playing a dangerous game but surely the cost was worth it as he felt almost like himself again. 

“Looks like we’ve got a badass over here.” Negan announced though there was no one else in the room. “Your job is to look pretty and ride me, do you think you can do that, or am I asking too fucking much? There are plenty more people out there that would kill for your position, you ungrateful slut.” 

“So that’s it then? I’m your trophy wife?” 

“And you get the best seat in the building.” Negan patted his thighs and winked. 

“Isn’t that a waste? I could scavenge for you, provide for you.” In truth, he just wanted some time to himself and hopefully find a way out of this nightmare. 

“Because you did such a great job last time, almost getting yourself killed.”

“It was a good hoard.”

“It was, even if you did steal the medical supplies.” It’s a chore to keep his face neutral rather than to confess to his act of defiance. “You think I wouldn’t find out? You got snakes in your camp, Rick and they sold you the fuck out for nothing, because they hate you.” He shakes his head in denial, it can’t be true, but then how did Negan know? “Believe what you want,” Negan shrugs. “I have work to do, oh, and you can forget seeing Carl today, that was it.” He states firmly, collecting Lucille from the dresser. 

“You can’t keep my son from me!” 

“ _Our_ son and you best fucking believe I can. Food for thought, Rick, fucking behave yourself. I know the bitch is getting his bark back but you keep on baring those teeth at me and see what the fuck happens.” Negan puts his glove on and circles the bed and heads towards the door. “So, rules, you can go pretty much where the fuck you want but don’t leave the compound. Stay away from weapons, stay off my men’s cocks and stay away from _my_ son.” Rick opens his mouth to deliver a scathing response but Negan levels him with his graveside stare and his bolstered courage flees like a scolded dog. “I want you back in this room at eight, any questions?” 

“Where are my clothes?” 

“These are your clothes now,” Negan answers lifting the discarded bowtie from the floor and runs it over his hand. His smile is lewd and self-gratulatory as he palms the material lost in his own voracious thoughts. “Can’t have you looking like a down-on-his-luck country singer, now can I?” He tosses the tie onto the bed and makes his way over to the door and opens it. “I’ll be seeing you,” he blows a kiss much to Rick’s chagrin and then leaves the room. 

He stares at the closed door not truly believing Negan had gone. He leaves it a few minutes realising his watch was missing, probably taken as a trophy, before he climbs off the bed and pulls the briefs back up. He walks into the bathroom and decides to take a shower as he feels used and unclean, and so he opens the closet surprised to find the far end shelving is full of aftershaves and deodorant. He grabs two towels, one for himself and one for the floor and places them before sliding the shower door back. He pushes the briefs down his legs and kicks them away before stepping inside. 

The water is cold as he twists the tap and the clinking of pipes and the groan of an old immersion heater are a sore indication that the water would not heat up within the time it took him to shower. He steps under the thunderous cold spray regardless and allows the water to beat down on his shoulders and neck like miniature hailstones. His skin prickles into Goosebumps and he is mindful to keep his bandaged hand from the spray as he squeezes shampoo into his left hand and washes his hair one handed and uses the suds to clean his body. 

His teeth are chattering by the time he exits the shower and his blood feels like liquid ice pumping through his frozen heart. It is a welcomed numbness as he could no longer find an outlet for his anger in killing walkers, so cold water, trembling lips and an icy caress were all that were available to him now. 

He dries himself and pulls on the boxer briefs and exits the bathroom while scrubbing his hair dry with the towel. His clothes are scattered around the room, taken off in both subservience and passion, which he would readily admit. It was just sex though and nothing more. It was a rarity to find pleasure in such painful times and though he had asked for it, the decision was never his to make. He was always going to sleep with Negan, the writing was on the wall when Negan first came to Alexandria and it was not a case of how or why just simply when. 

He puts his clothes on as he gathers them, forgoing the tie and leaving the top two buttons undone. He rummages through the dresser situated between the bathroom and the other room and finds a row of socks neatly placed and snatches a pair. He sits on the bed and pulls them on and looks at the door in front of him wondering what was behind it. He stands up and goes to open it but finds it locked and he steps away in wonder. Was it a dressing room? A prison for his wives? Why would this room have a lock when the bathroom does not? For an insane moment, he thinks there might be a walker in there, perhaps the wife that gave Negan the ring that clearly meant so much to him. Negan was possessive, if she had killed herself he would imagine out of spite he would cage her walking corpse. He dismisses the idea solely because he hadn’t heard a sound from that room and a walker was like a bull in a china shop. 

He shrugs and finishes drying his hair and tosses the wet towel onto the bed. It’s spiteful and petty and his actions reek of Negan so he collects it and hurriedly disposes of it in the hamper situated in the bathroom. Whilst there, he helps himself to Negan’s abundance of deodorants, not for Negan as the man may misconstrue but for himself and the fact if he used it, Negan couldn’t. It’s a petty way of thinking, hardly the vengeance he was used to serving, but that Rick was gone now and he had to mourn him and move on. He was thrown into a new world now, worse than the one he had awoken in but he had survived before and for the sake of his family, not Negan, Negan was not family, he would continue to defy the odds and live. 

He leaves the bathroom and looks around the room. There really isn’t anything to do but sit and stew on his thoughts and he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to think, or be alone with himself as even he had lost faith in himself. He puts his boots on and leaves the room when his mind ventures towards Alexandria, to the snake that sold not only him but their community, out. He didn’t want to question their loyalty nor question their devotion to him since it had been so terribly tested and shaken. 

There are two men mopping the floors when he exits Negan’s room. They keep their heads down and work diligently. He appreciates their ignorance and turns right, away from them and their clean floor, and ventures down the hallway. The place is like a maze as he had already seen so he walks in a straight line so he will not lose his way and have to debase himself by asking someone the way to Negan’s bedroom. 

He follows the corridor and passes through the steel door at the end and walks out onto a steel platform that overlooks the workplace floor. There are a few people loitering, mostly Saviours, some sat around an overturned cable wheel and playing cards. He’s not sure what he was hoping to see, life, Carl, something that made his sacrifice seem worthwhile. 

The groaning of metal and a low sardonic breath of laughter makes him turn and eye the Saviour that was climbing the steps. He was a thin bespectacled man with mousey receding hair and pockmarks marring both cheeks. He hadn’t come to square off, and as he reached the platform he could see why as he stood at an unimpressive five foot six, practically a man inhabiting a boy’s body. He has the audacity to look Rick up and down and shakes his head and laughs again before reaching for the door handle. 

It’s too much, the vindictiveness and petty scorn. His hand clenches at his side and before his idea was given time to ferment, he swung his fist into the man’s face, breaking a lens of his glasses and causing the man to stumble and fall. He tries to reach for him but it is too late as he watches in silent horror as the man rolls down the steps, a clang of metal and his moans becoming a symphony of pain. Eventually he stops three quarters of the way down, body twisted around metal and blood spilling from an inadvertent bitten lip. 

There’s a ruckus downstairs as chairs scrape against the ground as the Saviour’s come to see what is going on. He can only stand there, staring at the mangled body on the steps while the others stare accusingly at him. He could show remorse, he could, but he doesn’t want to. Remorse would be a weakness they could exploit. 

One of the Saviour’s steps over the body, and as he slowly climbs the steps hands raised in peace he sees the fallen Saviour sit up and promptly spit out a tooth. “Rick, right?” The handsome man asks, he’s younger than Rick, late twenties, clean shaven with broad shoulders and short blond hair. “I’m Mark.” He could have been a model in the world before, with his chiselled jaw and stunning green eyes. “Damn, your hand.” Mark gestures to it and he looks down to see a piece of glass from the lens he broke embedded in his bandaged knuckle and judging from the blood pooling in his palm he had opened his wounds by throwing that punch. “I’ll take you to the infirmary.” 

“Thanks.” He follows Mark through the door and walks across the mopped floor with a quick apology. Two right turns later they descend down two flights of stairs through another door and out into another corridor. 

“I get it,” Mark says, beckoning him forward. “It all looks the same but you get used to it.” Rick nods, he knows he will but it doesn’t mean he wants to. “Nice ring,” Mark scoffs but there is hurt in his eyes. His mockery was not self-indulgent but simply a thin veneer to hide his pain. The ring was his. 

“Yeah.” Is all he can say and he pauses briefly to stare into an antechamber boasting a kitchen and armchair and a shelf full of books.

“C’mon,” Mark beckons him towards the door at the end. As he approaches it swings open and a female with shoulder length straight brown hair steps out wearing a black mini dress. She shares a sad look with Mark before her brown eyes land on him and widen. Her lips part as if she wishes to speak but no words are uttered and as his blood drips onto the wet mopped floor, he passes her and enters the room. “Doctor Carson!” Mark calls, and with his hand gently on Rick’s lower back, he guides him further inside and then takes his leave, closing the door behind him. 

“Rick,” Doctor Carson says with some disappointment. The fact that he used his name was very telling, though he supposed not many people were personally carried into his room by Negan. “Take a seat,” he offers and Rick climbs on the step to sit on the reclined leather examining bed. “In the wars again so soon?” Carson asks opening the cabinet behind him, pulling out cotton swabs, gauze and cleansing alcohol. He places the items on a small metal table and Rick turns to look and sees among the surgical tools a used and negative pregnancy test. 

Carson turns and follows Rick’s line of sight. “Sorry, still getting used to being my own assistant.” He apologises and collects the failed test and places it into the bin. Rick could only stare, the girl, one of Negan’s wives, he remembered her from the day before, she had believed she was pregnant. “Don’t worry,” Carson laughs. “You’re perfectly safe, you won’t be needing a pregnancy test and that is a Doctor’s professional opinion.” Carson quips and laughs at his own joke. “Okay, let’s take a look.” He holds his right hand out and Carson makes a disapproving sound at the glass in his hand. He removes it with a pair of tweezers and then pulls surgical gloves on as he unravels the bloodied bandages. 

“It’ll get better if you’ll let it.” Carson snaps and takes perverse delight in cleaning the wounds with alcohol and then antiseptic cream. “Negan will take care of you, trust me.” Rick looks at him then, as the man looks down his large aristocratic nose at him. He’s the wrong side of forty with a forehead appearing larger by his receding hairline and crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. His gaze is judgemental as Rick’s frequent visits have seemingly vexed him. “I’ll extend your medication in case this little mishap exacerbates any existing problems, Negan will have to be notified.” Doctor Carson adds gravely, as a teacher would tell a child they would be talking with their parents. 

“Negan has been notified.” Negan says by the door, Rick hadn’t heard it open. He’s not smiling and as he walks towards him he notices Lucille is not with him. “What’s the damage this time, Doc?” He asks as he comes to a halt at Rick’s side. 

“Re-opening of old wounds. He’ll need another round of antibiotics and may I point out supplies are very limited.” 

“No, you may fucking not. Give him what he needs fucking lippy quack.” Carson is immediately cowed by Negan’s rhetoric and he bandages Rick’s hand in silence. “Good, now scat, I require a word with my loving husband.” Carson leaves without delay, head lowered in submission, a proud man brought low, Rick understood. “A-fucking-gain? Fuck! Fuck, there’s just no getting through to you, is there? You just had to fucking force my hand, didn’t you? You think I’m a monster, Rick? Fine! I’ll show you how bad I can be, just you fucking remember, you asked for this.” 

Rick sits stunned unsure what to do or say. He feels sweat form on his brow and his shirt becomes moist beneath his arms. Negan grabs the collar of both his jacket and shirt, choking him and forcing him off the bed and out of the door. He clutches at his collar, clawing at his neck trying to get the taut material away from his throat as Negan continues to drag him through a maze of corridors and then out into the open air. He squeezes his eyes shut against the burning sun and gulps in air as Negan releases him and stands to his right, blocking him from the steps should he flee. 

“I didn’t want this,” Negan says sadly and below them hinges of a door squeak. Rick looks over the railing as two men dressed in dirty cream coloured sweaters drag a chained walker towards the others. Rick arches a brow at Negan, unsure what was so significant, and Negan directed his attention back to the walker. 

There was a burlap sack covering the walker’s head. He was of slim build, young with a single bullet wound to his heart, the blood evident on his grey T-shirt beneath his plaid shirt. He fought with his captors and as he turned Rick saw the brown sheath for a hunting knife on his hip and realisation struck him like a freight train and forced him to his knees. 

“Noooo! Carl!” He turned to look at Negan who had opened the door and was met with a stoic expression as Negan shoved his hat- Carl’s hat- against his chest. “No! It should have been me, it should have been me.” He whimpers as tears spill down his cheeks and his heart pounds in his chest. He turns back to watch those men manhandle his boy and he moves to get up, to go to him, to die with him, but Negan kicks him hard in the stomach effectively flooring him. 

“No, you stay down!” 

“Why?... I’m the one that hurt you…kill me.” He forces out through stuttered breaths as his vision is a blur of tears. He hears the guttural cries of the walker- his son- and he throws himself at Negan’s feet. “Please kill me,” he begs pitifully pawing at Negan’s legs. Negan crouches down, fisting a handful of his hair and forces him to watch as his son is chained to a burnt-out husk of a car. 

“You watch, you fucking learn.”

“No…no…no…please.” He screams until all air is expressed from his lungs and he remains up on his knees solely by Negan’s hand in his hair. His breath is shallow, throat raw and heart pounding so furiously it was bound to shatter into a million pieces. Had he not heard the roaring of blood in his ears he would think his heart had already shattered. 

He watches as the men pull the sack from his son’s head and expects to see his worst horror realised, Carl, pale faced with a cloudy soulless eye…only it wasn’t Carl. His heart stops and his throat constricts as he stares at the pockmarked face of the Saviour he knocked down the steps. 

“What? Why him?” He asks when his tears subside and he finally has the breath to speak.

“Consequence.” Negan states, releasing his hair and stands tall once more. “For every action there is a reaction, you seem to forget that. Mike there separated his shoulder during that fall, hell probably did some damage to the ol’ noggin’ not that you care. Fuck, his wife must be devastated but you didn’t think about that, did you? Your moral code is as fucked up as mine but you keep acting like you’re better than me. We both know you’re worse. You’re a stone-cold killer, no wonder your son is a serial killer in the making, he takes after his dear old dad.” Negan pulls the hat from his hands. “Speaking of that little badass, I better give him his hat back. Stay out here and fucking wallow and _think._ See how easy that was, how things could just change in a second, that wasn’t Carl this time…” Negan trails off, leaving the threat in the air and awaiting a reply. When none is forthcoming he tuts in disapproval and shakes his head. “Getting real fucking tired of your shit.” He states and leaves Rick to stew on what happened but more importantly, on what could have happened. 

Rick scoots over to the corner railing, back to the bar and draws his legs up and throws his arms around them and sobs, pressing his face against his knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay and thank you for your continued support with this story. I never know the proper etiquette in regards to responding to comments so know they are read and appreciated, thank you :)


	7. Wrath

It takes longer than he would like to admit, for the tears to dry and his breathing to become even. He looks at his wrist, momentarily forgetting the absence of his watch. The material around his knees is wet, damp with tears and mucus, he rubs at it to no avail and eventually stands finding the task difficult. He looks around seeing men still inside the maze of walkers doing God knows what while two armed Saviour’s stand guard at both exits. He catches the gaze of the guard nearest him and the man promptly looks away in fear of his temper or more than likely in fear of Negan’s wrath. 

He eyes the newest walker, Mike, with regret. He was an asshole but he didn’t deserve to die. His death was senseless and questionable. No one saw what truly transpired between them and judging by the irate glares he had been met with, people assumed he had attacked unprovoked. Negan didn’t simply distribute such wanton death, he knew a man’s worth and still Mike died as a consequence for his actions. It was…unnerving to know Negan could become unhinged and break his own dubious moral code over so slight a thing. In all honesty, it was terrifying. He felt like he was on a balancing board in shark infested waters, one wrong move and all was lost, all being Carl. His son. His world now. Negan would save his life time and time again and each save would be at the cost of another life. 

He stares at Mike, imagines there’s gunshot residue on his shirt over his heart from the close range of the gun. He wonders if Negan squeezed the trigger and if when the shot fired and the capillaries burst the blood stained his hand as they now stain his own. He turns away from the walker, no, from Mike, he would remember him as Mike, as his consequence, as a threat he embodied and a reminder of what was truly at stake. 

He opens the door and goes back inside. He hadn’t been paying attention to the route as Negan had dragged him, choking him, letting him know he had truly come to the end of his tether. He remembers a door that leads to a staircase, he had descended down two flights, he could find his way back to Negan’s room unaided if he could simply find the stairs. 

He searches, poking his head into dark rooms finding military style quarters wall to wall with steel bunkbeds. There is no one lingering around to ask for directions should he succumb to the sheer monotony of the place and the rooms themselves hardly seem slept in despite how dirty, torn and stained the sheets were. He can only imagine this was where the common folk slept, those with the innocence to believe the Sanctuary was as its name suggested. The innocent refugees of the world working all hours for points to earn the right to live. 

He shakes his head in disgust and continues his search. He doesn’t come across the Doctor’s office and for that he is grateful as he couldn’t stomach Carson’s knowing glances. Carson had wanted to throw him under the bus but someone had got there first. He imagines it was Mark just pretending to be his friend while secretly earning himself some bonus points. He was a fool to trust him, however earnest he may have looked he was still a Saviour, morally bankrupt and self-centred. 

Finally, through dumb luck, he finds the stairs. He climbs them in twos hurrying up two flights. He doesn’t know why he’s rushing, it can’t be anywhere near eight o’clock but the panic is there, filling up his lungs and twisting painfully around his heart. Two left turns and a long straight, Negan’s room is the only door to his right. He opens the door without knocking, vaguely wondering if he had broken some unwritten rule, though he expects Negan not to be there. 

He shuts the door and notices with dissatisfaction that Negan was indeed in the room, laid on the bed on the side nearest the wall. His side. Rick shivers in disgust realising he already had a side and tries to disguise his revulsion as a chill. Negan doesn’t notice him, or if he had he simply ignores him, choosing instead to toss a baseball in the air, throwing with his right hand and catching with his left. 

It unnerves him by not having Negan’s attention, something he always had whether he wanted it or not. Without it, he’s lost. He shrugs off his jacket determined to gain Negan’s attention without voicing it. The ball is caught and not thrown again. He brings his hands up to the buttons of his shirt, they tremble and he falters. Negan turns his head to look at him, and he’s like a cancer beneath his skin as well as a neurological disease attacking his basic motor skills leaving him as incapable as a child. He hates it. He hates that he fears him, he hates that he knows he should fear him. 

“Oh my God,” Negan states in annoyance and his hands still. His cheeks are wet from his own tears and he tries to lift his head to meet Negan’s eyes but he falters once again. “Are you coming on to me? Seriously? That is the most saddest thing I’ve ever fucking seen and I’m living through a fucking zombie apocalypse.” He climbs off the bed but Rick keeps his head down, submissive, subservient. “Damn, you’re pathetic.” Negan tuts in disapproval. “It’s gonna be morose jerking off to this later, I can tell you.” He’s trying for humour but Rick can’t help but hear the hurt in his voice. He’s hurt Negan, so God can bleed after all, it’s not a calming thought as it should be.

“So you took all that time just to approach me like a walking corpse and offer your used body to me? Is that what you think this was about? Is that what you think I want?” 

“What do you want?” He snaps back without thinking and Negan actually laughs. 

“Ooh feisty,” he teases. “Worried I broke you there for a second, which was not my fucking intention. You just got a little too big for your boots there, Rick, waving your dick around like the big I Am. I’m the only one that gets to do that.” 

“Is that why you killed Mike?” 

“Were you fucking him?” Negan demands, turning so quickly he’s surprised he hasn’t given himself whiplash. The accusation is not done in jest either, leaving him reeling.

“No!” He snaps, almost scandalised. 

Negan rounds on him quickly, crowding him, dwarfing him, making his heart rate increase. “You better fucking not have.” Each word was followed by a hard prod to his chest and then the abusing hand reaches down and cups his crotch. He’s torn between looking at the caressing hand or Negan’s face but he chooses the latter watching the older man tilt his head and wet his lips. “This is mine,” he practically purrs in his ear and he relaxes into his touch, allows it to happen because sex was the easy part. Negan gently pats his genitals twice before moving his hand away, throwing Rick off course once again. 

“Don’t you want to…?” He trails off.

“Fuck you?” Negan offers. “Is that what you think I want?” He’s playing a game where there is no right answer. Negan was like a dog chasing a car, it had no idea what he would do with it when he finally caught it but he just enjoyed the chase. The dog had caught the car, Negan had him in every sense of the word and now they had found themselves at a stalemate. “What do you think I want, Rick?” 

He doesn’t know. He looks around the room and notices Carl’s hat on the coffee table. “Carl,” he mumbles with dread in his stomach. 

“What?” Negan demands in anger.

He turns back to him. “You want Carl.” He states clearly and Negan’s eyes narrow and the mirth in his eyes perishes in the burning heat of his glare. “I-I’ll do anything-anything you want, just please, not Carl, he’s just a boy, please, anything.” He begs suddenly enlightened. Negan was never going to hurt Carl, despite all the threats, that night and the ones that followed. Carl could have lost his arm, would have, had Negan not aborted his own order and even now Mike died in his place. 

“What the actual fuck? You think I touch kids? You think I’m that fucking depraved?” There is no answer that would quell Negan’s rage so he keeps his mouth shut. He has a sinking feeling that he has misconstrued the situation and damned himself in the process. He’s right, as Negan rounds on him again delivering a stinging slap to his cheek for the insult and then a punch to his cheek, deliberately missing his nose. He staggers back regardless, dizzy and weak, he hadn’t fully recovered from the sepsis as Negan had given him no reprieve. His arm is grabbed and he’s roughly dragged over to the bed and then pushed down, so he’s bent over it. He wants to scream, to fight back but instead he just bites the quilt to stifle his distress as Negan unbuttons his trousers and pulls them down along with the briefs. 

His ass is bare for the briefest of moments before Negan presses against him, his dark denims rough against the back of his thighs. He leans over him like an incubus with his ragged breath hot against the shell of his ear. “You really fucking think I would. Honeymoon’s over!” Negan snaps dismissively and stands, slapping his ass hard before stepping away. 

Rick remains still, unsure, and it is only when Negan stomps into the bathroom that he straightens and quickly pulls his trousers and briefs back up. His ass stings from the slap and he shifts uncomfortably until Negan stomps out of the bathroom with the red toothbrush Rick had used in his hand. “Get your shit,” Negan barks and he bends down to recover his jacket from the floor and his tie from the bed. “Get moving,” Negan orders pointing towards the door. 

He goes towards the door, opens it and steps out into the corridor and pauses, awaiting direction. “Right,” Negan orders, following far too closely behind him. They come to the end of the corridor with the option to turn left or right or through the door. “Right,” Negan sighs annoyed, as though he cannot grasp why Rick cannot find his own way. He turns right and passes several doors on his right trying to count them as he is marched up the corridor to the final door, number fourteen at the very end. 

Negan grabs the handle, turns and pushes the door open and then shoves Rick inside. Rick turns only to be assaulted by his toothbrush aimed at his head before the door is closed, a jingle of keys and the sound of a lock clicking turns his stomach. He drops his jacket and tie to the floor and steps towards the door, trying the handle to no avail. He hears Negan snicker from the other side of the door before he heard the older man’s retreat as his boots slapped against the cement floor. 

He steps back away from the door and looks around. The room is small, with two mustard coloured walls half painted purple and the cement floor is exposed. There’s an empty computer desk in the corner with a swivel chair in front of it. Across from that is a single made bed with a pine frame and littered with scatter cushions. The room bottlenecks at the door, so he ventures further inside noticing the LED ceiling lights. He turns right noticing the far wall was drywall, as well as the wall to his immediate right. He passes through the arch noticing a small bathroom on his right and a mirrored closet on his left. He enters the bathroom and finds a pristine toilet by the wall with a macerator behind it. There’s a small sink with a mirror above it and a shelf holding miniature shampoos. He turns and sees the bottom base of a shower, half the wall is tiled but not grouted, the mission aborted. He imagines it was due to lack of supplies as the workmanship was not substandard. 

He exits the bathroom and goes back into the bedroom. There’s a window high on the wall above the computer desk, thin and dirty with an industrial pipe obscuring three thirds of the view. The chair is too precarious to stand on and the table too flimsy so he pushes the table into the corner of the room and pulls the bed away from the wall, the wood screeching obnoxiously against the cement. He kicks his boots off and climbs onto the bed and peers out of the bottom of the window. It’s too dirty to see out of, so he pulls his large shirt over his hand and wipes away the dirt and looks again. 

It’s a courtyard of some sort, sectioned off by burnt out cars and beyond that chained up walkers. He can see a few Saviour’s loitering in the not too far distance armed with assault rifles. He snorts in disgust and continues to look. There’s a beat-up bright yellow Dodge Challenger in the courtyard with a slit and broken white vinyl roof, that seemed misplaced. 

He considers stepping down when he sees Carl walking towards the Dodge with Lucille in his hand. His clothes have changed as his were given to Mike for a ruse, he now wore dark denim jeans and a white T-shirt, a wardrobe undoubtedly chosen by Negan. He fists his hand to knock on the window and pauses when he sees that very man jog to catch up to Carl. He holds something out to him, small, unidentifiable from this distance. Carl snatches for it, misses, and Negan slings an arm around his neck, rubbing his knuckles against Carl’s head while his son struggles. He lets him go, laughing all the while and punching Carl playfully in the shoulder before shoving his hat back onto his head. 

Rick swallows thickly realising Carl was not expendable, _he_ was. He didn’t fear death, not anymore but the thought of that monster raising his son left him paralysed with fear. He keeps watching afraid to look away and watches them both climb into the Dodge, Carl behind the wheel. The car is stationary for a while before the lights come on and the car staggers forward and the lights die as the car comes to a complete stop. He doesn’t have to see Negan to know that he was laughing. 

The car starts again and moves forward in a slow crawl but even at such a minimal speed, Carl crashes into a pile of tyres. He doesn’t reverse, he continues forward, tyres be damned and he finds himself laughing knowing Negan told him to own his mistakes. He sobers at the thought. He should not become complacent when it came to Negan, he was the man’s prisoner now, locked away while he had free reign over his son. 

The lesson continues with Carl slowly circling the yard. Negan must have the patience of a saint sat beside Carl as he barely surpassed twenty miles per hour. It’s hard to watch but easier on his nerves and once the circle is finally complete the car comes to a complete and purposeful stop. They both climb out, Negan now wearing Carl’s hat, he circles around the car and throws a companionable arm around Carl’s shoulders and even from such distance he can see that Carl is smiling. 

They walk back towards the Sanctuary like that and as they near his window, Negan looks up directly at him and winks. He steps back, convinced Negan couldn’t possibly see him through such a small window so far away. When he looks again, Negan is still watching him with a sly smile and a look in his eye that screamed vengeance.


	8. Incarceration

Sweat stains on white shirts were the worst. Rick dunked the material again and then tipped a little more shampoo onto the mark and rubbed the material together before dunking it into the full sink. A macerator sounded somewhere above him, the obnoxious grinding of the blades setting his teeth on edge.

He left the shirt in the sink to soak and left the bathroom. His socks and boxer briefs were hanging from a shower rail he had found in the wardrobe and balanced on his bed and chair. He went over to them and found they were still slightly damp. He kicked a scatter cushion that was on the floor and climbed onto the bed to look out of the window. The Dodge was parked in the makeshift courtyard but there was no one around, just the heavily armed Saviours in the not too far distance patrolling the borders. Smoke was still billowing from the funeral pyre that was almost beyond his scope of vision. He’d watched the funeral procession two days’ prior with intrigue curious to see that they burned their dead rather than bury them. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, and though he could see it was practical it felt impersonal. Still, he mused, rather incineration than burden family by chaining their reanimated corpse to the very gates that protected them. That, he realised, was a punishment, one he was flirting very dangerously with. 

He climbed down from the bed and sat down on it instead dropping his head into his hands. When the world had ended, death seemed so much more common, no longer an inevitability but a daily struggle. The threat of death lurked behind every corner, in every shadow, taking shape in many forms. He’d watched better men than him succumb to zombies, bullets, knives and even to mad men wielding barbed wired baseball bats. Death wore many faces, and wielded many weapons and considering Death’s vast inventory of demises, Rick had never considered boredom as a possibility, and yet now it seemed like an inevitability. 

He didn’t know how long he had been locked up for as the monotonous days bled into one another. He did know, however that it was sufficient time for cabin fever to set in. The four walls had driven him stir crazy and though the far wall was made of drywall, easily destroyable if he so wished, he knew his imprisonment was psychological rather than physical. His incarceration was a test, of what remained to be seen, he could only assume behavioural. 

He stood up and approached the drywall and pressed his ear against it. Room thirteen was empty but not all the rooms along the corridor were. He regularly heard the comings and goings as doors clicked shut but never locked. When the sun goes down his corridor is a hive of activity from the click of heels on the cement floor to the opening and closing of doors, to the use of a macerator and the gurgle of old pipes when the showers are in use. He could only assume that it was eight o’clock, the curfew Negan had imposed on him and that he was placed in the wives’ wing, now spouses wing due to his addition. 

He had considered calling out when the silence became deafening but even at his lowest he would not endanger anyone else. Lesson learned. It did not stop him from listening out for his nearest neighbour who he had mentally named Judith. Listening out for her reminded him of listening out for the baby monitor and though he had done right by keeping Judith a secret and thereby safe in his heart of hearts he missed his baby girl. 

This Judith was a woman, one he had potentially seen on his wedding day but he could not remember as their faces blurred together in his fevered mind. Judith liked to sing in the shower, always the same song, the lyrics drowned by the spray of the water but the melody floated through the air. He found himself humming along to it on occasion, chorusing her singing, or simply trying to while away the time. She’d heard him once judging by the bubble of laughter he had heard and instead of responding to strike up conversation he had simply smiled. 

All is quiet now, the wives went somewhere for the majority of the day and returned at eight or whatever time their curfew was. He often wondered what their duty was, since he never hears Negan’s voice and when he does see him he’s out in the courtyard with Carl. 

He climbs onto the bed again and looks out of the window but all is the same as it was before. Negan usually gives Carl his driving lesson after dinner, if he does at all. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to Negan’s behaviour, none he could decipher anyway. He sometimes wonders if Negan has forgotten about him locked in his room gazing longing out of the window like a Disney princess. It isn’t lost on him, his continued emasculation, Negan can’t leave anything alone, he has to constantly pick at it until there was nothing left.

He sits down again. Standing up or sitting down is the majority of his decision making these days. A far cry from the man he used to be making life and death decisions on a whim. He doesn’t miss making those decisions but he does miss having the respect of his people. He’s not sure he had it anymore, it was on the decline when he had left and life had proven it could go on without him. He does hope Daryl’s return doused the flames of their ire and put to bed any futile thoughts of retaliation. They did still respect Daryl for his defiance for punching Negan while Rick cowered on the ground trembling like a beaten dog. They didn’t understand or rather chose to ignore that that punch had cost Glenn his life. Instead Daryl was a hero while he was cowardly scum who had sold them down the river. 

He gets off the bed shaking his head and paces. Familiarity breeds contempt, his current thoughts were no more than siblings squabbling. Negan wanted this. He wanted to alienate him from his family. He knew by isolating him his thoughts would turn inward but even as a self-confessed introvert he was hardly a thinker. His current predicament had proven that. 

He sat down again and stared at his bandaged hand, still pristine white even though he longed to pick at the scabs. He fought temptation as he needed to preserve every little piece of himself for Carl. He still did not know what Negan wanted with him though he was now convinced his theory of taking Carl as a lover was incorrect. He had mistaken bonding for grooming, Negan wanted a son, how many times has he said so? Yet he was so dense he hadn’t listened and called Negan a paedophile. How he still draws breath is a mystery, but when he stops, that is the moment to be feared. Not death itself but his absence, the last line of defence between Negan and Carl. If he were to die Negan may turn his lustful attention to Carl, so as long as there was still breath in his body his existence was a deterrent. 

His thought process grinds to a halt as he hears squeaky wheels on a rickety old cart. He climbs off the bed and grabs his jacket from the back of the chair to cover his bare torso. He’s working on the third button on his jacket when there are two precise knocks on his door, before a key is pressed into the lock and turned and the door comes open.

The cart enters first, an ancient thing, original purpose unknown, followed by a Survivor not a Saviour. He’s an older gentlemen, late sixties or early seventies sporting a white combover and bottle rimmed glasses. His back is bent as a result of a life of hard labour and though his ears are large with wisps of hair poking out of them he was hard of hearing. He doesn’t spare him a glance, he never does, he just leaves his dinner on the table with a glass of orange juice so diluted one could hardly tell the taste and a single pill, while taking his used dishes away. 

Rick has simply learnt to linger by the bed and smile charmingly in the hopes that he might one day speak to him. He’d like to hear his voice, in truth, he’d like to hear any voice that was not his own. He imagines it was deep and gravelly, a voice ravaged by a lifetime of cigarettes judging by his nicotine stained fingertips. He doubts he will ever hear it, if he can speak he is not allowed to, not to him or the wives and he respects his position enough not to commit such a cardinal sin. 

“Thank you, Malcolm.” He says politely to fill the awkward silence. He had heard one of the wives in the corridor say the same sentiment so he could only hope the man’s name truly was Malcolm. He’d open the door for him but the room bottlenecks and there wasn’t enough room and his help could be misconstrued as an escape attempt. He is wise to the men, women and children within the Sanctuary, there was no honour among thieves and he knows there were those hanging on with bated breath hoping for him to put a foot wrong and sell him out for however many points it was worth. Malcolm wouldn’t hesitate to sell him down the river, it’s troubling but he never came here to make friends. 

When the door closes and the lock clicks into place, he vacates his position by the bed and approaches the table. Sausage and egg, the usual. Bacon and egg for breakfast, sausage and egg for dinner and pork chops for tea. He shouldn’t complain, there were those that would kill for a single meal nevermind three a day, and here he stood ungrateful and bitter. He picks up the pill and the squash and swallows the pill with a mouthful of water, the concentration of orange so minute he can’t even taste it. 

He puts down the glass and eyes his meal. It does look appetising though he had no appetite to speak of. It wasn’t so long ago that he had sat down to breakfast, had Malcolm made a mistake? He takes off his jacket and drapes it over the chair and enters the bathroom again to continue to scrub his shirt. He felt like a cartoon character with one outfit to his name, it wasn’t logical nor practical but it was Negan’s ruling and if it meant he had to stand in his room naked from time to time it hardly mattered as no one would see. 

The stains beneath the arms are gone but the inside collar has yellowed. He tips some conditioner onto it as the shampoo clearly isn’t working. He scrubs at the stain to waste time, humming a song he did not know. His bandage is damp and his fingers have pruned by the time he has finished. He can see no real difference and leaves the shirt in to soak for a while longer and enters his bedroom. 

He grabs one of the two sausages on his plate and bites it. It’s bland, it could use some seasoning but who was he to complain? So long at the top of the food chain he had forgotten what it was like to be at the bottom of the pecking order, voiceless, no one. He finishes the sausage and considers eating the egg when the roaring of an engine captures his attention. 

He leaps onto the bed and looks out of the window. Negan is there, stood in the middle of the courtyard doubled over clutching his stomach. He’s laughing, so loud he can hear the deep belly laughs that have him clutching his guts in pain. He doesn’t have time to consider what Negan found so hilarious as the Dodge veers toward Negan trying to knock him down. Negan darts to the left, falling into a heap in the dust and yet he’s kicking his legs and crying with laughter. 

Heavily armed Saviours converge around the Dodge, guns raised. The driver door is flung wide open as though kicked and then his heart leaps into his throat as Carl steps out of the vehicle with his arms raised. “Carl, no!” He chokes as he watches his son forced to his knees before Negan with several guns aimed at the back of his head while Negan swings Lucille. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and turns away. When he opens them again tears spill down his cheeks and he gathers his courage and looked out of the window once more. He releases the breath he was holding in a choking gasp as Carl remains on his knees unhurt and whole. His heart hammers in his chest as Negan pulls his son to his feet and drags him over to the car and shoves him back in behind the wheel. He waves his goons off with a swing of the bat before he walks around the vehicle and climbs into the passenger side. 

The lesson goes the same way as the ones before, a slow circle around the courtyard though no longer at a snail’s pace, each rotation gathering speed as Carl’s confidence grew. He can’t look away, scared at what could have happened, scared further by what may still happen. He’s proud of Carl for enduring that and still capable of driving as though nothing was amiss. He wanted to embrace him and tell him how strong he was and how proud he was of him. 

They circle the yard twelve times before the car comes to a stop and they both get out with Negan throwing an over friendly arm around Carl’s tense shoulders and makes him hold Lucille. He imagines Carl’s hand tightens around the bat as his mind wars between compliancy and defiance. He had been in that position himself, he knew the struggle but he was a man fully grown while Carl was a pubescent teenager with a high influx of testosterone. 

Thankfully the result of his earlier antics has cowed him and his shoulders slump in defeat as his head lowers as Negan guides him towards the building. They stop just before exiting his line of sight and Negan looks up at him and smiles. He whispers something to Carl and his head snaps up and he sees his cheeks are tear stained as he looks in the direction Negan pointed in. 

“Hey!” He shouts, waving his hand. “Hi,” he drops his hand as Carl blindly searches for him but cannot see him. Negan waves, whispers something else to Carl and then they vanish from his line of sight. He continues to look in the hopes they return but they do not so eventually he climbs down. 

His food is untouched but he hasn’t the stomach for it. He considers flushing it and allowing the macerator to tear it up but he can’t bring himself to. There were people starving in this God forsaken world, his own people, family, while he had the audacity to turn away food. 

He lays back on the bed and prays for sleep if only to dispose of some miserable hours. Inactivity always leaves him feeling lethargic and moments after his head touches the pillow his eyes become heavy with sleep and his thoughts are put to rest.

 

Knocking on his door awakens him and he sits up abruptly casting a panicked look towards the table and the remainder of his dinner. “Just a minute!” He calls, getting off the bed and grabbing his plate hiding it beneath his bed. He slaps his forehead and rakes his fingers through his hair as he realises Malcolm would want the plate returned. 

Two more knocks and then the locked turned but the door did not open. Rick paused and stared at the door. Someone knocked again. Curiosity got the better of him and he walked over to the door without a care that he was ill-attired and he opened it. 

Negan was stood there leaning against the frame, one hand up against the wall while his other held two open beer bottles by the neck. He can practically feel the drag of Negan’s gaze as it sweeps down his naked torso and then back up to concentrate on his lips as Negan’s tongue flicks out to dampen his own lower lip.

“Happy anniversary,” Negan states and holds out one of the bottles as a peace offering. He takes it and walks back into his room while Negan smirks and follows him inside, shutting the door behind him. “Oh Rick, you going commando for me?” He casts a glare over his shoulder wondering how the older man knew until he turned back to see his underwear was still hanging from a makeshift clothesline. He grabs his boxers and socks relieved to find them dry as he throws them onto his bed and knocks the curtain rail onto the floor. 

He takes a seat on the bed and brings the beer to his lips and takes a swig. The beer is warm and tastes unpleasant leaving a bitter aftertaste on his tongue, he swallows another mouthful regardless. Negan stands by the bathroom wall nursing his own beer while watching him. It is still as unnerving as it was that night in the woods. 

“Care to explain why our son drives like a fucking chick on the rag?” Rick doesn’t have an answer, not one Negan would like anyway so he remains silent and has another drink. It is appalling but if he drinks it then Negan can’t, a petty way of thinking but it was all he had. 

Negan shrugs off his silence and takes a seat beside him on the bed, shoulder to shoulder, bare arms touching as Negan had forgone his usual leather jacket. “I’ve missed you,” Negan breathes into his ear disturbing his curls with his warm breath as his hand inches up his thigh. Rick relaxes into the touch and parts his legs a little wider, a movement that does not go unnoticed by Negan’s keen eyes. “You miss me?” Negan’s laugh is like a rumble of thunder and Rick turns to him then with the embers of his bonfire heart reflected in his eyes.

“What does it look like?” 

Negan leans forward with his lips millimetres away from his own. “I know what it looks like.” Rick briefly glances at Negan’s lips so close to his own and tilts his head awaiting a kiss that never comes. “You failed,” Negan suddenly says. “That night in the woods,” Negan continues. “Our little joy ride, you failed the test, three fucking times.” He stares at Negan bewildered. “I wanted to see what this motherfucking badass could do and found out not fucking much. You were a disappointment, little weepy fuck but I couldn’t watch you die. Fucking wouldn’t. I wasted ammunition on the dead fuckers when bullets are for thinkers, and you still don’t get it.” 

“I…I…” Rick closed his mouth, no, he didn’t get it. 

Negan scoffs and shakes his head derisively. “Don’t worry your pretty fucking head about it.” He took a sip of his beer and swallowed with a grimace. “Fuck this beer tastes like shit,” he exclaimed and drained the bottle regardless. “Great seeing you,” he suddenly said, climbing off the bed and taking Rick’s bottle from his hand. 

“You’re leaving?” He hated the panic he heard in his own voice. Negan nodded, and finished his beer while Rick’s heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t want to be alone, not again. “You wanna kiss me?” He asked, climbing from the bed, using Negan’s own words against him. 

Negan arched a black eyebrow and his pearly white teeth bit down onto his full lower lip. “Fuck yeah!” He approached with enthusiasm and Rick closed his eyes expecting a hard, ravenous kiss and was instead gifted a peck on the cheek. “I’ll be seeing you.” Negan smirked and walked towards the door and in his panic, Rick grabbed his wrist, stilling him. Negan turned, eyes narrowed and lips drawn into a thin line. “You sure you want to be doing that, Rick?”

“Don’t leave,” he snapped, releasing Negan’s wrist and suddenly hyperventilating again. “I-I could go…with you…we could…celebrate…I…”

“No.” Negan stated firmly. “Gonna leave you in here a while longer, let you stew a little bit.”

“No, please,” Rick begs throwing himself at Negan’s feet. He can’t be locked up again, he just can’t be. Negan holds both bottles in one hand and grabs his right looking over his bandaged knuckles. 

“Good. You keep this clean, I’ll come check on you soon.” 

“No please, no.” Rick begs clutching at the man’s belt and burying his face in his crotch in an act to show what he was willing to do. 

“Jesus Rick!” Negan admonishes with a hard shove. He lays where he falls, curling in on himself. “This is just pathetic; your damn kid has bigger balls than you do. Stop being so fucking dramatic, God, it’s always the pretty ones. You just don’t know how to behave.”

“I want to,” Rick catches the words and grabs onto them as though they were a lifeline. “Just…please…just tell me what you want.” 

“I shouldn’t have to.” Negan spits the words as though they were vulgar on his tongue and he leaves the room, locking the door behind him.

“Please don’t leave me.” The floor is cold but Rick curls into a foetal position and cries away his pain.


	9. Escape

The sun was setting. Rick tilted his head back and looked up at the burnt orange sky and breathed deeply. Ahead of him, a childish giggle rang out and he looked across the field to watch his daughter run through the knee-high wheat singing a song he could not hear the words to. 

“You be careful baby girl,” he called and Judith turned, blonde curls shining golden in the sun, and waved. He waved back and watched her dart through the field in her bright yellow sundress still singing. He stood still and watched Judith play in the wheat that moved in waves by the warm summer breeze and then his gaze shifted to the white farmhouse that was both familiar and alien. 

Night approached like an oil spill staining the sky midnight blue. “Time to go,” he called and held out his hand as Judith came towards him. She took his hand and he looked down at her amazed that something so precious and innocent existed in such an ugly world. The world didn’t seem so ugly right now, he wondered why he thought it was. They walk towards the farmhouse but there was no welcoming porchlight or any light for that matter. 

His pace slowed becoming measured and cautious. Judith trembled beside him and he held her hand tighter and made comforting noises as they moved steadily on. Suddenly the wheat before them burst into flame forming a straight wall of fire. Judith screeched and he lifted her into his arms allowing her to bury her face in the crook of his neck before he ran in the opposite direction, away from the farmhouse. 

Several metres in, the wheat burst into flame again and he dug his heels in the dirt and tried west, before another wall of fire stopped them. Their last hope was east and he ran as fast as he could but the fire was faster, spreading across the field, boxing them in. He stood in the centre holding his baby in his arms making calming sounds for the both of them. 

There was a song in the air- whistling- he realised and then through the smoke he saw a figure approach, the silhouette distorted by the heat of the flames and in that very moment he thought Lucifer himself had come to stake a claim. 

“Neeeeeeeeeeeeeegan!” Judith screeched in his ear. 

 

Rick awoke with a jerk and flung the scatter cushion he was clutching across the room. He let out a long breath, his heart racing and he dragged his fingers through his hair telling himself it was just a dream. 

“Neeeeeeeeeeeeeegan!” He jumped up and off the bed staring at the door wondering where the screeching was coming from. “Negan! Please!” He turned, looking at the wall and climbed onto his bed and looked out of the window. Somewhere a woman was wailing but the courtyard was empty. 

“What the fucking fuckety fuck is going on?” Negan’s voice cut through the screams but still no one had ventured into his line of sight. 

“Someone sedate that bitch!” Another disembodied voice called out. 

“You watch your fucking mouth before I seal your lips to your ass hole, you fucking prick.” There was genuine anger in Negan’s words, and then he walked into his line of sight, jacket gone, hair mussed and Lucille dangling from his right gloved hand nonchalantly. His head was turned as he gave the miscreant a baleful look but Rick could not see the person who had spoken out of turn. 

“Neeeegan!” The voice sounded again, less of a wail and much closer. Suddenly a woman ran into his line of sight looking as though the hounds of hell were at her heels as she clutched something large in her arms and made her way directly towards Negan. 

Whatever she was holding was enough to make Negan drop Lucille in favour of taking the bundle from the woman in both arms as more and more people appeared from the right having chased the woman. Negan was silent, which was ominous, his head was down as he regarded the package held in his arms. 

Rick turned his attention towards the bundle and his heart ached as he saw dainty red shoes. He didn’t want to look any further but morbid curiosity got the better of him. Negan was not too far below him and as he turned, Rick could see the little girl laid dead in his arms. She could be no more than five, with soft raven ringlets of hair framing a cherubic plump pale face. Her legs moved gently as Negan turned proving she was freshly dead as rigor mortis had yet to set in. 

He had to wonder why Negan was called, as from as far away as he was he could see the bullet hole in the child’s head and the drop of blood that framed it. She had died and had been put down. He wiped away a tear, he had killed so many walkers it came naturally to him now but with children it never got any easier. 

There’s a ruckus, the dark-haired woman is shouting at the men who had chased her. He expects Negan to intervene and bring order to the chaos unfolding but he remains frozen, eyes never leaving the little girl’s face. He wonders what her name was, and morbidly, what killed her. There was medication here, a doctor, warmth and shelter and plenty of food. Had it been an accident? From what he could see of her she seemed to be healthy so he can only assume it was an accident. Perhaps she had fallen down some stairs and broken her neck or hit her head on a sharp object, the factory may have been named the Sanctuary but it was still a factory and unsafe for children. 

His jaw drops as Negan falls to his knees clutching the child against him and whispering words that would not be heard. His shoulders are shaking and as he releases his hold Rick can see tear drops on the child’s face. Negan was crying, sobbing really, was the child his? The woman- the mother- gives up the fight and drops to her knees keeping her distance but entreating Negan in a hushed voice. There’s a man stood to the right of her, dark-haired with a willowy figure. His cheeks are red, stained with tears, the marks look violent on his ashen face. He was the father, not Negan. 

“It’s what we do!” A voice stated loudly, and the pushing and pulling begins again. The crowd is split and passionate about their beliefs but the argument is lost on him. Negan seems detached, lost in another world as the world he built unravels around him. The death of a child has knocked him for six. He presses a kiss to her temple and then lays her down onto the ground, and as he stands her mother covers her with her body.

“We do not burn children!” Negan announces putting an end to the civil unrest. 

“Well I’m not burying her.” Another person speaks, a muscular guy with a bald head. He hadn’t meant for his voice to be heard by the way he looks shifty-eyed but he fronts it out, standing by his conviction and folding his arms stubbornly.

Negan moves so quickly he almost missed him snatching Lucille from the ground before he was at the man’s side swinging Lucille and catching the man behind the knee with the bat. The man goes down to one knee, hard, like a felled oak and Negan pulls Lucille away tearing the denim that soon becomes soaked with blood. 

“You don’t have to do a fucking thing you lazy son of a bitch.” As he speaks he presses Lucille against the man’s chest dirtying his green shirt with his own blood. He’s angry but he does not shout and he is furious but his temper is controlled and that is what made Negan so dangerous.

He isn’t frightened, in fact he feels a sense of justice and if he were in Negan’s position he would have acted similarly. The world was bad enough without psychotic bullies who lacked empathy. Negan had shown heart and by doing so he had shown weakness and that was as good as blood in shark infested waters. He had to act quickly and ruthlessly to re-affirm his position as alpha male and as the others who opposed his way of thinking quaked beneath his glare it was a lesson well learnt. 

“Any of you stupid fuckers got anything to say? No? Someone get me a fucking shovel and take that dumb cunt to the infirmary.” The ones that opposed the burial are the first to act, helping their fallen brother while others dash off in search of a spade. The courtyard empties quickly though the mother stays weeping over her lost child, the father too and a few survivors a few feet behind him, friends of the family in all probability. “Don’t you worry, Amy will get a proper burial.” Negan says to the mother, voice even though the look of devastation never really left his face. “Does she have a favourite blanket or something?” He asks the mother first but she is beside herself with grief so he turns his attention to the father. He nods and wipes at his eyes sparing one last glance at his daughter’s still body before turning and moving out of Rick’s line of sight.

A minion returns bowing and holding the spade out in subjugation. Negan snatches it off him with a scowl and the man drops his head thoroughly reprimanded. Lesson learnt. He skulks off with his tail between his legs as others approach with various digging utensils, some more useful than others. Negan does not scorn them for their thoughtlessness instead he summons them to follow him as they pass the perimeter of junked cars and walkers and out into a barren field. 

They begin to dig in one cohesive unit and Rick is stunned. Moments ago these men were on the verge of civil war and one man swung a bat and cowed them. It is…breathtaking. He can think of no other way to describe it, he was in awe of Negan. 

There’s movement in the courtyard, the father has returned carrying a blanket depicting a fairy in a green dress, the mother wails when she sees it. His thoughts turn to Judith, though he wished they wouldn’t. He imagined it was her small body laid in the courtyard, still, peaceful, dead. He wanted to hold her again, he wanted Carl back at his side where he belonged. He hadn’t been dealt the loss the woman had but he felt it all the same being apart from his family, his daughter and son even his own husba….No, there was no husband, the marriage was a sham, there was only he and Carl, Judith was safe and Negan….Negan was nothing, not to him and not to them, nothing. 

Negan returns to the courtyard and the blanket is placed over the child- Amy- and Negan lifts her. The father should carry his own daughter but Negan is driven by a sense of duty and perhaps one of guilt. He’d offered safety, sanctuary and still a little girl had died, despite reason and logic, guilt would always seep through the cracks. 

The couple do not oppose him, and clutch one another and follow behind him as he takes Amy to her final resting place. A few gather at her graveside as Negan lays her to rest, the ones that had remained in the courtyard. If he speaks, Rick cannot be sure as Negan’s back is to him. It is a short affair as Amy’s body is soon covered and her mother leaves a well-loved teddy to mark the grave. 

He continues to watch, first driven by morbid curiosity but now he cannot take his eyes from Negan who had turned and now openly wept. Tears misted his own eyes, for the child, he was sure. The friends of the family are the first to take their leave and as the sky darkens, the father encourages the mother to abandon her post. She resists at first, shrugs off his guiding hands but eventually she embraces Negan, most likely thanking him for his humanity. 

Eventually she is led away and Negan remains standing vigil at Amy’s grave. He should turn away, allow Negan his grief but he cannot. For so long he had believed this man was a monster and yet here in the dying light of the sun stood a man, as good and as bad as any other in this new world. It was…startling. 

As the night sky becomes stained with black, Negan eventually returns to the building not bothering to spare a glance at his window. He continues to stare out of it though there is nothing to see but he’d rather stare into oblivion than at the four walls that kept him imprisoned. 

He hears the squeaky left wheel on the old rickety cart but he does not turn, even as he hears the two knocks and then the key in the lock and the door click open. He no longer trusts Malcolm, as he is convinced the older man is compliant in the mind games against him, changing his visiting hours and the order of the dishes served so he has no true concept of time. It is evil and jarring as though he is suspended between two worlds and not belonging to either one. He needs grounding, routine, something that he had had before it was so cruelly taken away. 

He casts his gaze to the table and sees his pill, a glass of diluted orange and a plate of sausage and eggs. It should be pork chops not sausage and egg, he’d already had sausage and egg earlier, he was sure of it. It was done deliberately, the dishes bleeding together and with his boredom naps he was left constantly feeling disorientated. 

Malcolm leaves, he does not thank him and as the door shuts he’s surprised not to hear the lock click into place. He climbs off the bed and stares at the door in wonder. Perhaps Malcolm had dropped something? Moments later he hears the sound of the cart being wheeled away while his door remained unlocked. 

It was a test, had to be, Malcolm may have messed up his routine but he was a stickler for his own. Rick approached the door and opened it cautiously, not too far, just enough to poke his head out and spy the retreating back of Malcolm. 

“Malcolm?” He calls in a hushed voice momentarily forgetting Malcolm’s poor hearing. “Malcolm?” He calls a little louder, opening the door a little more. “You forgot to lock the door!” Malcolm does not respond and instead begins to whistle as though he was deliberately tuning him out. So it was a test, or Malcolm’s conscience got the better of him. 

Rick shuts the door but his hand does not leave the handle. He should go, run, find Carl and return home and hold Judith in his arms once again. He’d have to leave Alexandria, he cannot bring Negan’s wrath upon them. He’d have to find Carl first, and that is considering Negan is not hiding at the end of the corridor waiting to catch him in the act so that he may punish him again. 

He pulls his hand away from the handle. It was a trick. He walks over to the table and takes his pill with a sip of water, there’s no orange, just the colouring, the flavour long since eked out. He collects his plate and the cutlery and sits on his bed and begins to eat his meal while his gaze invariably goes towards the door. 

After dinner, he is at a loss for what to do. The wives had returned some time ago when he was still looking out of the window and all was quiet now. It only reaffirms that Malcolm had changed his times, or the wives had. No, it was Malcolm, the old snake in the grass, too old to lynch him himself so he left enough rope so he could hang himself. It was a sick game. 

However, if he left it long enough, would Negan surrender his post in victory? Or perhaps he would have others do his dirty work standing sentry. Or even perhaps there was no one there and Negan was so sure of his influence over him he knew he would not leave. His prison had always been mental rather than physical, the drywall proved that. The whole spouses wing was once a large room, split into fourteen rooms, he could easily punch his way through the wall and exit through door thirteen if he was so inclined. He is, but he won’t. 

So why unlock his door? He gets up and paces restlessly. It wouldn’t hurt if he left his room to get his bearings, Negan had once said exploration was fine so long as he didn’t sleep around, grab a gun, find Carl or leave the compound. He intended to find Carl, but not tonight. Tonight, he would take anything beyond these four walls, he’d even forgo company for space, air, a brief flirt with freedom. He’d return, no one need know. 

His outfit is rather conspicuous but then so would bedsheets or nudity which were his only alternatives. If he forgoes the jacket and tie he’d still look dressed to the nines but less so. He doesn’t have much choice and it’s only a quick exploration, a few breaths of fresh air and then he would return.

It’s hardly genius, damn right foolish but he had played by the rules and stayed in his room and took his medication and still he was locked away. Life was fleeting, Amy had shown him that and he refused to wither behind a closed door. Life was for living, even his, trapped inside this hell, his heart was beating so few could say the same. Amy couldn’t. 

He cautiously opens the door and pokes his head out. The corridor is empty, the third strip light was flickering ominously casting shadows against the walls. It should be a deterrent but it isn’t- can’t be- so close to freedom he cannot be cowed now. He steps out of the room and presses his back against the opposite wall. The covert operative routine is ridiculous as the corridor lights are on but he sneaks down the corridor like a beetle scurrying from the light. 

There’s light breathing and gentle snores coming from the rooms nearest the end. The wives were asleep, so it must be late. He makes extra effort to remain quiet so as to not awaken them and endanger them. As he reaches the end of the corridor he takes a deep breath and looks out. Empty. He breathes a sigh of relief but keeps a faithful watch as he reaches for the handle of the door behind him. 

The corridor remains clear as he gently opens the door and he steps over the threshold, backwards and hears the steel platform clang beneath his feet. He closes the steel door as gently as he had opened it and breathes a little easier. 

“Well hello there.”

Negan.

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments on my last chapter blew my mind. Thank you so much x


	10. Two Weeks

Rick stared at the steel door, shoulders tense and a tremor running down his right arm. Negan didn’t sound angry but that didn’t mean anything. The man was an enigma who could cave men’s skulls in with a smile on his face and yet mourn the death of strangers as though they were lifelong friends. 

“Someone let you out?” Negan questioned, he was somewhere on the workplace floor, his voice echoing in the vast emptiness. There was a strange tapping sound and he eventually turned around and approached the rail. As he had guessed, Negan was on the workplace floor stood before the ping pong table, one side drawn up so he could play against himself. There was a beer in his left hand and a paddle in his right and a line of empty beer bottles littering the floor beside the table. “Pull up a stool and keep me company.” Negan said offhanded though it didn’t mean it wasn’t an order. 

He hit the ball while taking a swig of beer proving he was not intoxicated as it seemed and so Rick surrendered his height advantage and walked down the steels steps. He tried to mentally prepare his argument during his descent, fully prepared to throw Malcolm under the bus should it come to that. 

Negan continues to play, eye on the ball as Rick reaches ground level and walks over to him. There are no stools, but several overturned cable wheels. He perches on the one nearest the ping pong table clutching the edge of the knotted wood to prevent his hands from shaking. 

“Saw you watching me earlier.” Negan speaks without looking at him and takes another drink. His smile is missing and his pale cheeks are tear stained and it’s a testament to his character that he would allow people to see him unguarded and vulnerable and not give a fuck. 

“Yeah.” He answers noncommittedly, unsure how to respond. 

“That little girl,” Negan pauses and misses the ball. He drops his paddle onto the table as the ball bounces off into the darkness and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “This motherfucking cocksucking world, man, fuck it, she was four, what the fuck did she ever do to anybody?” The question seemed rhetorical so Rick didn’t give an answer and he wasn’t sure there was one. 

Negan moved to his left and pulled another bottle of beer from a crate before walking over to him and holding it out. It was either a peace offering or a sign of comradery, Rick took it hoping for either one. Negan stared at him expectantly, unmoving, so he looked at the unopened bottle and twisted the cap off and brought it to his lips and tipped the bottle spilling the beverage into his mouth and coating his tongue. It was cold but still bitter, far better than the warm piss Negan had offered him before. His compliancy brings a twitch of a smile to Negan’s lips and he clinks his bottle against his own and walks back taking refuge against the wall. 

“See, grizzled vets like us? We’re fucking invincible because bastards like us were spewed out of hell’s vagina. There ain’t no room for innocence in this New World.” 

“How’d she die?” Rick asked, eyes down and took another drink. 

“Cancer, can you fucking believe it? There’s fucking walking corpses hankering for our fucking flesh every bastard minute of every fucking day and cancer still gets us. Probably could have been treated before the world went to shit. Old bastards like us are still here but what’s the fucking point if the world is wiping out the next generation? Fuck, I used to take kids for granted, saw ‘em as little fucking burdens that make you old before your time. Used to always be on a flight with a fucking baby wailing all the time, wanted to cave the little shit’s skull in, never thought I’d miss the sound.” 

“You never had kids?” Rick asked demurely unsure of the boundaries in their current circumstance but it was nice to hear another voice and communicate even if it was Negan. 

“No, there was always something, ya know? How about you, you just stop at one or…?” Rick’s left hand clutched the cable wheel so tight his knuckles had turned white. 

“Yeah.”

“You don’t sound so convincing, Rick.” Negan folded his arms, leaning against the wall, indiscernible hazel eyes watching him intently. 

“I wanted more,” he lied. “But Carl was a difficult birth, she couldn’t…after…” he wipes at the corner of his eyes knocking the tears away. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” The silence stretches between them and Rick takes the time to finish his beer. Despite the awkward silence, he liked the company and the openness of the workplace floor. “When the world went to hell, that’s when I realised I wanted a kid, how fucked up is that? I wanted a son, an heir, an ass-kicker that assimilates into the world he was born in.” He pauses then, licks his lower lip as his dark eyes become hooded, predatory. “Then I met you, and you gave me the son I always wanted. Man, he loves the shit out of you.”

“Where is Carl?” 

“Took you long enough to ask me. He’s on kitchen duty, earning his keep.”

“You were teaching him to drive.”

“Right up until he tried to run me the fuck over,” Negan agrees laughing. “He thinks I’m being cruel to you, kept demanding to see you. I had to put him in the kitchens on a time out, that’s what parents do, right?” His smile has returned, as he clearly likes to tease him about Carl’s parentage. 

The silence stretches between them again. “So, you finally punch through that drywall to come see me?” 

“No.” 

“C’mere, show me your hand.” He hesitates momentarily allowing the words to sink in before standing up, leaving his empty bottle on the cable wheel and approaching Negan cautiously. Negan abandons the wall and places his bottle back into the crate as he meets him halfway in front of the table. 

It is with effort that he holds his right hand out, palm down, trying desperately to keep his hand from shaking. The bandage is still pristine and Negan makes a noise of surprise before touching the seal and then stopping abruptly. “May I?” Rick nods, unsure what Negan wanted to see and watches Negan gently remove the bandage almost reverently. He folds the bandage and slips it into his back pocket before taking his hand and inspecting his knuckles. The red welts look angry and sore but the skin was healing several shades darker where it had split. There is no hint of discoloration or infection and Negan looks at him, features soft as he brings his hand to his lips and presses a bristly kiss against one of his abused knuckles. 

Rick stifles a moan, biting into his own lower lip as his body reacts to the simple touch he had been deprived of. Negan notices, judging by the way his lips quirk upwards at the corner of his mouth as he presses a second lingering kiss to the next knuckle. Rick slowly moves his little finger against Negan’s bristly cheek, touch starved and desperate, his breath quickens as Negan places a third kiss quickly followed by a fourth.

He removes his mouth and Rick cups his cheek, pressing his palm against his stubbly jaw feeling each short blade of his beard press against his hand like a thousand tiny pin pricks. Negan lifts his left hand to rest over his own and then entwines their fingers before turning into his touch pressing a kiss against the palm of his hand. He watches him out of the corner of his eye as he drags his lower lip across his palm, up his thumb and flicks out his tongue licking the pad of his thumb before pursing his lips and pressing a kiss against it. 

Rick watches, mesmerised, heart beating rapidly as he daringly rubs his thumb against Negan’s soft pink lower lip. Gaining confidence, he presses his thumb into the warm cavern that was Negan’s mouth and attempts to suppress a shiver as Negan watches him with smouldering dark eyes. A warmth spreads through him as though his blood was on fire as Negan’s tear stained cheeks hollow as he sucks on his thumb, chorusing Rick’s surprised moan with one of his own. 

It’s too much, he removes his thumb from Negan’s mouth but not from his lips. He coats them with the man’s saliva watching them glisten in the low light. Negan’s breathing heavily, lips parted and hand hot against the back of his own. He wants to capture his lower lip between his teeth, worry and suck on it until he can feel the man’s pulse against his tongue. He wants to feel his life and feel alive with the touch of skin on skin, exploring the ecstasy that can be found as two bodies become one. 

“You wanna kiss me?” Negan asks, voice low and rough with desire. Rick nods, dropping his hand and stepping closer obliterating Negan’s personal space if the man had any concept of what that was. “You think that’s what I want?” 

Rick pauses, tilts his head and stares into his hungry eyes. “I don’t give a fuck what you want, it’s what I want.” He reaches for Negan then, hand on the back of his neck and pulls him down into a hard kiss. There’s no finesse with his kiss, he plunders Negan’s mouth like a man starved of affection, holding the older man against him so he couldn’t move away. He’s demanding and unrelenting and Negan melts against him, lets him have the control he so desperately seeks while his hands glide down his back and lower over the curve of his ass and squeezes. 

His touch should be disgusting and belittling but he cannot find it within himself to care. He wants this, he…wants. Negan’s hands move lower still, grasping the back of his thighs and lifting him, settling him on the ping pong table. He parts his legs letting Negan stand in between them as he continues to devour his kisses, digesting him a piece at a time, possessing him with each stroke of his tongue. 

Negan places a hand on his shoulder and pushes him away, turning his face to break their kiss. He comes back at him, nips at his lips in a biting kiss before Negan stops him with a hand around his throat. He pauses, breathing heavily, eyes glazed over in lust. Negan’s hand tightens and he realises he wants that too as he is pressed down onto his back with Negan’s hard cock bumping his thigh while his own tents his trousers.

“Stay.” Negan orders, releasing his throat. He reaches for him but Negan captures his wrists and pins them to the table above his head. His fingertips brush the net that spanned across the table and he uses that to anchor him in the maelstrom of sensation. 

Negan untucks his shirt and pushes it up his flat stomach before wrestling with the button and zip on his trousers before tugging the material down along with his underwear just enough for his cock to spring free. There’s a pearl drop of jism adorning the head of his penis and Negan lunges for it, collects it on the tip of his tongue and swallows it like it was the sweetest nectar while smiling in satisfaction. He should be disgusted, not reaching for Negan again and guiding his head down encouraging the man to take him into his mouth. He’s broken an unwritten rule moving his arm from Negan’s placement but there has been no chastisement so he fists the short raven hair at the back of Negan’s head and pushes down making him swallow his cock. 

Negan moans around his cock, and snakes his fingers of his right hand around the base to jerk him off in time with the shallow bobs of his head as his left hand fondles his balls. Rick stares at the ceiling blissed as though he has taken a shot of heroin directly into his veins. There’s a barn owl up in the rafters, black eyes searching for prey, he imagines Daryl would shoot it if he were here. 

“No,” he whimpers, tears misting his eyes as he tries to push Negan away. Negan stops, removes his mouth with an audible pop and looks troubled when a tear escapes his eye. 

“Well shit, was I really that bad?” 

“N-no, just not here.” Negan’s eyes narrow as he waits for an explanation that he cannot give. He can’t mention Daryl in front of Negan, he’d be locked away again in a darker room further away from Carl. Realising no explanation was forthcoming Negan shakes his head and holds his hands up in surrender while taking two steps back. His head lowers in dejection making Rick feel like an absolute asshole as he climbs off the table pulling his boxers and trousers back up. 

He grabs Negan’s hand and begins to lead the older man towards the stairs much to his surprise. “I want to,” he insists, throwing a look over his shoulder. “Just not here.” 

“Well then, don’t let me stop you, beautiful. Lead the God damn way.” He drops his hand as they get to the stairs and Negan follows close behind, his breath blowing hot against the back of his neck. He advances up the stairs faster than necessary needing to be away from the owl, away from his memories of a life that was lost to him. 

He opens the steel door with flourish, allowing Negan to take hold of it as he passes through. His palms are sweaty and his heart rate spikes as he looks down endless corridors that once promised freedom. His claustrophobia has morphed into agoraphobia as he longs for his four walls. The grass was not greener it was red with the blood of Alexandrians and he needs to get away from that, from himself, from who he used to be. 

He turns left and ventures down the spouses’ wing, to his room, to safety. Negan follows close behind him with his left hand curled around his waist and his fingers fanned out across his exposed abdomen. He takes comfort in the possessive touch knowing that despite his imprisonment he would not be alone.

He opens the unlocked door and Negan does not utter a word leaving him confused. Malcolm had acted under Negan’s orders, he must have, as Negan is not suspicious by the unlocked door. Perhaps it was simply a test to see if he was willing to throw Malcolm under the bus rather than to see if he would leave the room. 

He doesn’t want to think anymore. He kicks the scatter cushions making a path to the bed and then turns in Negan’s loose embrace and presses their lips together. Despite the chastity of the kiss, Negan pushes him back and then eyes the bed with a smirk. 

“A fucking single? Shit, takes me back to my fucking college days, bet you were the campus bike. Nah wait, little southern belle like you, that’ll be horse, right? Everyone got a ride. Be a good cowboy and strip.” He ignores Negan’s verbal garbage to the best of his ability but spares him a glare as he unbuttons his shirt and shrugs out of it. He kicks off his boots before pulling his trousers down and off along with his underwear leaving his socks on as the floor was cold. He straightens, comfortable in his own skin and allows Negan to look, his gaze centring on his hard cock that was flushed red with blood. 

“Now undress me,” Negan orders as a stray hand kneaded his bulging crotch. 

“Is that what you want?” He teases watching his hand in fascination.

“Fuck no, it’s what you want.” He can’t argue. He steps forward, taking hold of the bottom of Negan’s white T-shirt and pulls it up and over the man’s head and tosses it negligently onto the floor. He rakes his fingers down Negan’s hairy chest down to the light dusting of hair over the valley of his abdominals before grabbing the jeans and pulling Negan flush against him. He ravishes his mouth as he unbuckles his belt and then tackles the button and zip. He leaves his lips red and kiss-swollen as he drops to his knees and helps Negan out of his boots before pulling his jeans down. His cock springs free, unhindered by the denim, underwear missing, presumptuous bastard.

He helps Negan step out of them before eyeing the engorged shaft, flushed red like his own. “Go on pretty Ricky, take it into your mouth.” He looks up through his lashes and presses his closed mouth against the head of his cock. Negan looks wrecked, hair mussed, lips swollen and cheeks flushed, as he tries to maintain control while taking staggered panted breaths. Rick allows the head of his cock to rub against his lips coating them with precum before he sits back and flicks his tongue out experimentally tasting the man’s bitter release. “Oh fuck!” 

Rick smirks and climbs to his feet. “What the shit? You fucking asshole.” He pulls the quilt down and then climbs onto the bed and lays on his back. “I’m gonna fuck the shit outta you.” He parts his thighs at Negan’s words and sends a challenging glare in his direction. “Sexy little slut,” he practically purrs, voice like honey as he prowls towards him and climbs onto the bed, kneeling over him and ravishing his body with his eyes. “I wanna taste every inch of you,” he states and plants a firm kiss on his lips before pulling back, licking his own lips and moaning from the taste of himself. “I’m gonna tongue fuck that little slut hole…” he involuntarily shivers at the suggestion. “Dirty bitch,” Negan praises with a pinball smile as he winks his left eye. “I’m gonna pin you down and fuck you, make you cum from my cock alone like the needy desperate whore that you are.” 

Rick moans and writhes beneath him desperate for the friction of their bodies and longing for touch that had been denied him for so long. He grabs Negan’s backside and pulls him down causing their cocks to duel as they press together. “Well fuck Rick, you’re just _starving_ for my affection. I wanna give it to ya but I’ve nothing to slick the way.” 

“This,” Rick begins, breathless, arching his back to press against Negan. “This is good.”

“Yeah?” Negan asks with a laugh but he’s too far gone to be insulted. “Gonna rub up on each other like a couple of randy teens? Well hell, why the fuck not?” He lowers his body effectively pinning Rick to the mattress before rolling his hips. His cock slides against his pelvis as he captures his lips in a deep kiss, exploring his mouth. Negan tastes of cheap beer and cigarettes but to Rick it is the finest cocktail. 

Rick brings his left arm up and clutches the nape of Negan’s neck, toying with the short strands of hair he finds there. While his right hand drags down Negan’s hard back, blunt fingernails scratching at his skin. Negan grunts then, as his body shivers and Rick claws down his back again and then runs his fingertips against the hollow of Negan’s back. 

He takes the time to properly feel the body of another male on top of him. Despite Negan’s outrageous claims to the contrary he had never been with another man and the only time he’d been put on his back was by someone trying to kill him. Negan’s body is hard muscle and sharp angles, while Lori had the softest skin and the most hypnotic curves. Michonne’s body was hard as a result of the world in which they lived but there was a delicacy there, one he cannot find in Negan. The man looked and felt like he was chiselled from stone and despite all reason and logic he found he was stirred by him. 

Negan breaks the kiss to lick and suck on his neck beside his jugular vein and he is free to make little moans of pleasure as his cock is trapped between both their bellies. He tries to roll his hips and meet Negan thrust for thrust but Negan has him caught and at his mercy and the thought doesn’t terrify him but thrills him. Too long alone, the solitude had driven him mad. That, and the way Negan looked at him, dark eyes glittering predatory in the shadows, the want so tangible he can taste it on his tongue and mistake it for his own. No one looked at him the way Negan did. He was friend, brother, father, lover, leader and salvation to some but to Negan, he was simply Rick. 

He moves his hand to Negan’s arm and traces the angel’s wing luxuriating in the ability to touch. Such a strange thing to take for granted, he hadn’t realised he expressed himself through touch so much. Negan had seen and understood, knew to isolate him so he could not stir the people into a revolt. Know thy enemy, it is a shame then, that he does not know Negan. 

Negan’s hips move steadily faster against him as he chases the euphoric high. He moves his caressing hand to Negan’s ass, grabbing a fleshy mound and pulling him harder against him. There isn’t an inch of fat on him, a circumstance of the time, obesity was a luxury no longer an epidemic.

“Oh fuck,” Negan pants in his ear moments before he feels the wetness on his stomach. “You good, baby? You gonna fucking cum for me? Paint that chest for me.” Negan swallows his answer as his tongue plunders his mouth and his hips continue to grind against him forcing him to the pinnacle of completion. His ejaculate coats both their stomachs and Negan breaks the kiss to eye the mess and then looks back at him, winking once more before flopping beside him. 

“Fuck, you get me cumming in my pants and now this? You are fucking special, always knew it. You make me feel young.” He whistled as he exhaled and then shifted on the bed. “Fuck this single man, seriously.” He complained before climbing off the bed and entering the bathroom. “Fuck me, no fucking shower, fuck!” Rick stared at the ceiling, hands behind his head as he heard the closet open and a tap run before Negan was back, wiping down his cock and chest. “Sorry about this shithole of a room but it was the only one with a window.” 

So the driving lessons were for his benefit as well. He shifts on the bed, closer to the wall making space for Negan beside him. The older man smiles and perches on the edge of his bed, feasting his eyes on his body once more. “You are the fucking devil, Rick Grimes.” It’s a barbed compliment but Rick takes it as Negan reaches down and collects his jeans. 

“Where you going?”

“There are rules, sweetheart, I shouldn’t even be in this room with you.” Rick’s heart freezes in his chest at the possibility of being alone again. “Hey now, what’s with the panic? I can’t stay here with you, I’ve got a lot on tomorrow and I’d get lost in your eyes and between your thighs.” He stands up, pulling his jeans up and buttoning them while leaving the belt unbuckled and drooping from the loops. “You can see me off tomorrow though, I’m off to your neck of the woods, see how Daryl is filling your boots.” 

“You’ve not complained, why are you still going?” 

“Still going?” Negan asks, slipping on his worn boots. “Time’s up, Honeymoon’s over, gotta see this new world order, I’m expecting incest and moonshine.”

“What?” Rick asks confused. 

“Shit, Rick, how the fuck long do you think it’s been?” Months though it feels like years. He shrugs his shoulders noncommittedly. “Two weeks tomorrow,” Negan answers matter-of-factly and Rick’s mind reels. Two weeks? No, it had to have been longer, Negan was lying. It had been months, he was sure of it. “I’ll get Barry to wake you so you can see me off with a kiss,” Negan grins while pulling his shirt back on. 

“Who is Barry?”

“Hunchback, old guy with hair growing out of his ears. He should have been feeding you, has he not fucking been?” Negan asks angrily and he realises that Barry is Malcolm. 

“He has,” he confesses culling Negan’s rage. “I just didn’t know his name.” He feels foolish now, having called him Malcolm on numerous occasions. He hadn’t heard the cart when the wife thanked the real Malcolm but he had assumed since he’d never heard a male voice or saw anyone other than Barry, that it must have been him. 

“I’ll be seeing you,” Negan says, suddenly before him stealing a kiss from his unmoving lips. He doesn’t say a word, he can’t and Negan leaves sauntering out of his room self-assured and boastful. The door remains unlocked but it doesn’t register as Negan’s words keep repeating in his mind;

 _’Two weeks tomorrow.’_

He’d been at the Sanctuary less than a fortnight and already his mind was torn and broken. He stared at the door unsure how he was going to survive a minute more of this living hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to add a chapter on Valentine's Day but as I'll be editing another story that won't be happening. So consider this my Valentine's Day chapter, hope you enjoy :)


	11. Emasculation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay, this chapter was a pain to write. If you haven't already read my belated Valentine's story then feel free to take it as my apology for taking so long to get this chapter out.  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/9795725

Heat pooled in his groin. Rick wiped the sleep from his eyes and glanced at his bare left wrist, a mannerism he had yet to overcome. He groaned, annoyed and dropped his head back onto the pillow, squeezing his hands into fists as he ignored the swelling between his thighs. It had been too hot for the quilt so instead he had covered himself with the top sheet that was now tented with morning arousal he was quite sure he had outgrown. He blamed his vivid dream of Negan tasting every inch of his body and the rub of the cool sheet against his hot skin. 

He sat up and contemplated taking care of the problem when his eyes were drawn to the desk. His used plate had been white, but the one he now eyed was blue. He sat up further and saw scrambled egg but no bacon, a glass of orange and a single pill. Barry hadn’t woken him. 

“Shit!” Rick exclaimed, untangling himself from the top sheet and falling to the floor in his haste. Negan had ordered him to see him off with a kiss though it was posed as a suggestion there truly was no alternative. He scrambles to his feet and finds his boxers tangled with his trousers as he had shoved them off together. He manages to pull them on together and plucks his creased shirt from the floor. 

Why hadn’t Barry woken him? He leaves the shirt unbuttoned and goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He catches his reflection in the mirror mid-brushing and frowns at his untamed curls while his eyes look like piss holes in the snow. He spits out the toothpaste and rinses his mouth out before cupping water in the palms of his hands and splashing his face and wetting his hair. He rakes his fingers through his hair and then pats his face dry before drying his hands and buttoning his shirt. 

He exits the bathroom and sits on the bed pulling the boots on. He stands up and grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and pulls it on while considering the tie laid on the desk. He abandons it and heads towards the door, breathing a sigh of relief as it remained unlocked. 

The corridor is empty save for himself walking up it and the spouses wing is quiet as the wives have already gone…wherever it is they go to. He usually hears them leave, heels clicking in tandem, echoing in the hall until the silence engulfs the fractured peace once more. 

He reaches the steel door, opens it and steps out onto the platform. The workplace floor is empty, one side of the ping pong table is still drawn up though the empty bottles that littered the floor are gone. He walks down the steel steps, running his hand down the painted yellow metal, feeling the metallic paint chip off under his hand. 

He wipes his hands as he reaches the bottom and then walks across, up more steel steps onto a concrete platform and out of the door. The three vans he remembers are parked up along with an assortment of vehicles lined in a convoy as a group of Saviours, far larger than necessary stand around talking amongst themselves. He jogs down the stairs and approaches the group.

“Rick!” Negan’s voice calls from somewhere centre of the group. Rick pauses. “Look everybody it’s Rick!” Negan announces, as he appears like Moses passing through the Red Sea. A few heads turn, not very many but enough to make him feel ill at ease and desperate to return to his room. “Fuck you look good,” Negan states standing before him, enthusiasm in every word as he traces his lip with his tongue. “I could just eat you alive.” He moves quick for a man of his size and seizes Rick’s lips, plucking kisses from his unresponsive mouth. He pulls back with a sated smile, tasting his own lips and winking lewdly. “Mmm delicious.”

“Dad?” Carl’s voice is like a breath of fresh air, soft and inquisitive. It’s like a punch to the stomach knowing he can’t answer him, as he drops his head and fights the scowl that threatens to permanently mar his lips. 

“Rick, aren’t you going to greet our son?” He lifts his head hesitantly, unsure of the game Negan was currently playing. Carl is stood by Negan’s side still wearing the white T-shirt and dark denims. His eye is unbandaged, though his injury is hidden by his hair parted at the side and drawn over his eye in one long wave. The hat is gone once more, Rick briefly wondered if Negan had understood the relevance of it to cast it aside so frequently. 

“Carl, are you okay?” He doesn’t miss the uncertain look Carl gives to Negan, seeking permission. They are both being used as pawns against each other. Negan’s hand travels up Carl’s back and comes to rest on the nape of his neck, possessive and controlling. 

“Answer your Daddy.”

“I’m good, I’m okay…are you?” He nods, too choked up to speak. 

“You’ve made your Daddy cry, give him a hug.” Negan pushes Carl into his embrace and he holds him tightly, cradling the back of his head and presses kisses against his temple. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too, Dad.” 

“I love you both,” Negan adds, leaning forward, occupying space he had no business being in. “Okay can the sap, time we got going kid.” Reluctantly he releases Carl before Negan intervened and stands back, cowed but responsive. 

“Where are you taking him?”

Negan gifts him his pinball smile before draping his arm across Carl’s shoulders and presses a kiss to his temple mimicking his earlier actions. “It’s take your kid to work day, isn’t that right, Sport?” Carl shrugged noncommittedly. “’Bout time the kid learnt the ropes and earned his keep, plus it’ll keep the Alexandrians calm seeing a familiar face.”

“I could go…” he begins to offer knowing immediately that it was a mistake. 

“I’ll just fucking pretend I didn’t hear that because I don’t want to argue with you in front of our impressionable boy.” The air around them sours as Negan adopts a look of scorn. “Run along now, Carl, I need to speak to Daddy alone.” Carl casts him a touching worried look but he simply nods reassuringly allowing Carl to scarper off to the white van while he takes his punishment. 

Negan says nothing and only watches him, indiscernible hazel eyes shifting, measuring him. He doesn’t like it. His stare is too penetrative and invasive. He feels trapped, lost in Negan’s eyes, his world narrowing into circular hazel prison cells. Before he can fully comprehend what has happened, Negan has hold of his left arm and he feels the bite of metal around his wrist. He looks down believing he had been cuffed and finds his watch adorning his wrist once more. 

“I fixed it for you, more than that redneck’s ever done for you.” It’s not true, Daryl had saved his life countless times and he meant more to him than a watch. “The least you could say is thank you.” 

“Thank you.” He replies obediently, unwilling to dispute Daryl’s value. There was little point, Negan believed what he believed and he would not hear different. 

“Gonna get some of our boy’s things, you want me to pick up anything while I’m there? Some clothes from your Garth Brooks tribute wardrobe perhaps?” 

“No!” He snaps vehemently, remembering his plea to Aaron to move into his house and take care of Judith. It will be highly suspicious finding them there and Carl had not been privy to that information. Hadn’t Negan also believed Eugene’s house was his, or he was taken there because he had been told that was where one of the few remaining beds were. There’s too many variables, if he could just talk to Carl, to warn him. “Can I please talk to Carl?” 

“No. If all goes well you can have some time together when we get back, now, you wanna kiss me?” He presses a brief kiss to Negan’s cheek and steps back, looking towards those gathered to see if anyone was watching and found that none were. “You’re a fucking heartbreaker, Rick Grimes.” Negan states jovially with his pinball smile firmly in place. “I’ll be seeing you,” he steals a kiss from his unmoving lips and turns to walk away but Rick grabs his wrist, stilling him. 

Negan turns his head and arches a brow in query. “You keep our son safe.” _My_ son, not ours, he misspoke and damned himself for doing so as Negan smile lit up his face. 

“I’ll protect him with my life.” He promises, snatching up his grabbing hand and placing a kiss on the back of it before departing out of reach so their hands fall by their sides. Rick has another furtive look around and still finds no audience as the gathered are piling into the vehicles. He can only watch as Negan approaches the white van and climbs in, trapping Carl between himself and the driver. 

Rick holds his hand up, face neutral despite the terror he is feeling and tries not to frown as Negan responds to his gesture to Carl, and instead waves back enthusiastically. He pats the roof and the brown van rolls forward followed by the white one Negan and Carl were in as the convoy steadily makes its way out of the gate kicking up dust on the barren land. 

Rick staggers forward unconsciously following when he notices several AK-47’s directed at him. It should be worrying but it has a calming effect on him as it grounds him and prevents him from being self-destructive. He holds his hands up and turns around considering going back to his room but decides against it. He can’t take comfort in his four walls when Carl was no longer in the building. 

He pauses and looks around the compound. The AK-47’s within the inner circle lookouts are trained on him but those further away are not. They don’t consider him a flight risk, either they’ve underestimated him or are trigger happy, he doesn’t care for either one. 

He watches the last vehicle of the convoy disappear from his sight, a motorbike, useless in the scheme of things. Its sole purpose was to bully, with the rev of an engine and occupying space making the Saviour’s look and feel like an almighty threat with the roar of engines sounding war at their victims’ front door. A flash of sunlight on the far gate momentarily blinds him and he recovered enough to see the Saviour stationed there pull something from their jacket. 

He turned to look towards the factory and saw light bouncing off glass at the very top beside one of the three long stemmed chimneys. Mirror signals. Odd given the long-distance radios he had seen but he imagined they would be in short supply or comms were strictly for emergencies. The signalling is forgotten when he spies several M1A sniper rifles and more troubling, rocket launchers. The building is crawling with men armed to the teeth and with the height advantage and microscopic lenses they would be able to see an attack coming from thirty miles away. 

Rick’s heart beats rapidly in his chest as he prays Daryl has calmed the storm brewing in Alexandria. He had been here, he must know that any rebellion would be quashed within minutes. He looks around again. There seems to be some efforts to cut back the woods that is a large blind spot and leaves the front gate vulnerable to attack if their assailants were to undergo the foolhardy mission to walk the woods at night. The Saviours were not dumb enough to use a spotlight and draw the walkers and they were too heavily armed in the morning leaving nightfall the only window of opportunity. Rick shakes his head, old habits die hard, he was home now, the Sanctuary was his home and thoughts of attacking it belonged to another man that wore his face. 

His stomach in knots, Rick eyes the gate again knowing it was too soon for them to return as they had only just left. He paces trying to work off his restless energy and considers his options. He can’t go far on the grounds judging from the number of guns directed at him, possibly around the building within the walker wall. He won’t be able to pay his respects to Amy. It’s not much but it’s something and he ventures off, eyeing the integrity of the building, looking for areas of vulnerability through eyes that were no longer his. 

 

By the time the convoy returns he was sat on the concrete platform, legs hanging down, eyeing the grease monkey who was eyeing him through the scope of a short-barrelled assault rifle. He stands and looks at his watch and sees they have been gone for three hours and twenty-three minutes, far too long to only visit Alexandria. He jogs down the stairs, his white shirt saturated with sweat beneath his jacket and hair damp from the unrelenting sun. 

“Rick!” Negan shouts, hopping out of the van while it was still in motion. He should stop doing that, putting unnecessary pressure on his knees, not that he cares. “My husband, fretting like a soldier’s wife, come give Daddy some sugar.” He frowns, looking behind Negan and watches Carl also jump down from the moving vehicle. He approaches to give Carl a piece of his mind before Negan catches him around the waist and presses sloppy kisses against his cheek. 

He considers pushing Negan away but Carl seemed calm and Negan was jovial and he decided against rocking the boat. “Everything okay?” Negan didn’t answer, but Carl subtly nodded easing his mind. 

“Come on, sport!” Negan suddenly announced, hands dropping from his waist to take his hand while his other arm curled around Carl’s shoulders. “We’re helping your old man move.” Move? It’s news to him. He allows Negan to lead them back into the Sanctuary while constantly keeping his eyes on Carl. Negan notices if his body language was any indication as he made sure he was constantly stood between them, creating distance. 

When they arrive in his room, Negan makes a beeline to the bathroom and returns carrying his toothbrush and promptly passes it to Carl before snatching his bowtie from the table where his meal drink and pill no longer reside. That is the extent of his belongings, hardly a three-man job but he appreciated the time he spent with Carl however awkward it may be. 

They leave his room, Negan taking his hand again, emasculating him in front of Carl and walk seven doors up to room number seven and stop. “Home sweet home,” Negan announces and opens the door, and enters, tugging Rick’s hand to bring him inside and Carl follows after him. The room is a carbon copy of the one he had just vacated minus the brick wall and window. “See?” Negan says and he turns to find him talking directly to Carl. “Mommy and Daddy love each other very much.” Negan croons sarcastically and Rick tries not to flinch. That was twice now Negan had carelessly tossed the word ‘love’ around. 

Knowing his façade of indifference is slipping, he takes his toothbrush from Carl and enters the bathroom. Unlike his previous room the walls are fully tiled and grouted and there is thankfully a fully functional shower. “Come on out, Rick, I wanna show the badass what you do all day.” In a state of confusion, Rick leaves the bathroom and watches Negan toss the tie onto the bed and take his hand once more leading him from the room with Carl at their heels. 

It is so surreal he begins to think he might have sun stroke and none of this is real. He might be back in a coma, for all he knew he never woke up from the blood poisoning. They turn left and follow the corridor to the very end before stepping through open double mahogany doors to the last room on the right. 

The room is not vacant, as six women loiter turning their heads and becoming small as Negan enters. “I know,” Negan says to Carl whispering obnoxiously loudly. “Every woman where you’re from dresses like a lesbian. You’re gonna want look at their titties.” Rick releases his hand and elbows Negan in the ribs. “It’s cool,” Negan defends. “I won’t mind, they won’t mind, knock yourself out.” 

“Carl!” Rick reprimands instead and watches his son lower his head, keeping his eyes trained on the grey floral carpeted floor. 

“Let him live a little, Rick, he’s a fucking man now.” 

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Rick hissed and Negan clutched his heart mock-offended. 

“Ouch. Well excuse the shit outta me, co-parenting is hard when all you do is sit on your ass all day eating bon-bons.” Rick splutters in shock. “Come on, Carl, let us men get to work, those lorries won’t unload themselves. Daddy’s tired now, busy doing nothing really takes its toll.” He adds spitefully winding an arm around Carl’s shoulders and encroaching his personal space. 

To his horror, Carl does not seem phased as though he has taken Negan’s word at face value. It’s then that he realises today was not about him at all. Today was about Negan endearing himself to Carl and the silver-tongued devil had done it while making him appear lesser. 

“Bye Dad,” Carl holds up a hand, demeanour peaceful and Rick doesn’t want to shatter that. If Carl can find contentment here whether through truth or misconception, then he would allow it. 

“Curfew’s at eight,” Negan tosses the words over his shoulder as he steers Carl from the room. 

Rick stands in the doorway uncertain. The atmosphere is no longer hostile now Negan has departed but there remains an uncomfortable silence created by his addition to the room. He can’t blame them nor fault their suspicion of him. He’d seen first-hand how callous and duplicitous the Saviours could be and Negan who seeming had a ravenous appetite for the female form suddenly succumbing to the temptation found between men’s thighs did not seem legitimate. At best, he could only hope to be given a chance to assimilate but even then, he would still be a cock in a hen house.


	12. A Day in the Life

Soft tapping on the door awoke him. He raised his left arm and squinted at his watch reading 6:45 am and groaned in annoyance. The tapping sounded again in a drumbeat of five knocks and he aggressively kicked the quilt away and swung his legs off the bed. He dragged his hand down his face and stood up wearing only boxer briefs and socks and shrugged indifferently. He stomped over to the door and yanked it open and glared bleary eyed at the grey-haired women stood with a wicker basket in her liver spot marked hands. 

“Do you have anything that needs washing?” She asks unconcerned with his state of undress. Poking his head out of the door, Rick looks left and then right and finds the corridor clear. 

“Are you allowed to talk to me?” He asks quietly, should one of the wives overhear. 

The woman offers him a tight smile and a shake of her head. “Any clothes?” She reiterates lines from a script she could not deviate from. 

“Ugh, yeah, just a minute.” He leaves the door open and the woman smiling patiently as he enters the bathroom and pulls his shirt out of the sink and rinses it to the best of his ability. Yesterday, when he had returned to his room he had found a glass of orange and his pill waiting for him as well as two new white shirts, one pair of black trousers and three pairs of socks. The lack of underwear was quite telling especially since he was quite sure he was wearing Negan’s and as he had seen the man was not in short supply of anything. 

He returns to the door and deposits his shirt inside the basket with an apology but she only smiles, taps her wrist and walks away. The gesture is lost on him. He closes the door and listens as the woman taps five times on Judith’s door and it opens immediately, routine or she heard their exchange. The walls are thin, even in his old room he could hear her sing but now next door her voice was even more beautiful though he realised he was listening for a country twang that she did not have. He’d slumped against the wall, listening to her humming to herself as she readied for bed as he remembered a better time lost in bitter thoughts. He had thought she had gone to sleep when all was quiet but instead he heard a quiet knock on the wall, just left to where his head rested and a quiet voice called out ‘Hi.’ He had smiled and tapped the wall once in reply and heard her shift in the bed before all was quiet once again. 

He wonders why she is awake and vaguely wonders if he should be awake and dressed also. The wives had a time to leave the room so it wasn’t unreasonable to believe they also had a time to be in the room. He looks at his watch again – 6:49 am – and ventures into the bathroom. He’d showered the previous night and fogged up the mirror with heat that had long since been denied to him. There’s a razor on the sink with shaving foam and aftershave, deodorants and sprays and more could be found in storage on one of the shelves in the wardrobe. He’d not seen them when he had placed his toothbrush in the bathroom, only the miniature shampoos and conditioners he had in his old room. 

Strange, he was beginning to miss that prison, comparing things and finding them lacking against his previous room. It was most likely the window that he missed most, watching the comings and goings of the Saviours and the crows circling over the irrigation pit to the far left of his vision beyond the compound.

He scratches the scruff at his jaw, considers shaving it off but decides against it. It’s his only line of defence against Negan’s kisses. The touch of that man’s beard against his smooth skin would aggravate and irritate and yet when he feels it against the inside of his thigh it excites him. He grabs the bowl of the sink and drops his head breathing deeply. He despised his thoughts, he despised Negan for occupying his every waking thought. The man was all-consuming like a black hole and he can’t escape him. 

He snatches his toothbrush and toothpaste and quickly brushes his teeth, mindful of the time, 6:53 am. Afterwards he grabs the nearest deodorant and sprays beneath his arms, not for Negan but for his own benefit, even he tired of the foul stench of his own body odour. There’s a flurry of movement in the room next door and beyond that and so he quickly pulls on his trousers, they needed cleaning- he wondered if the washer woman would return the next day- and grabbed a clean white shirt. 

By the time he was tying his boots he could hear the doors to the other rooms opening and he jumped to his feet, hopping on one foot as he hadn’t quite managed to pull his boot on. Fitting it properly, he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and exited the room. The wives were stood out in the corridor in formation waiting for one another. He glanced at his watch – 6:58 am – and pulled on his jacket waiting on door number four. An Asian girl in her mid-twenties exited- Misumi- if he had heard her name correctly yesterday. She smiles sheepishly, head down and tucks her long black hair behind a small ear before hooking arms with the occupant of door number three. 

The occupants of room one and two hook arms as well as five and six and then they begin to march towards the bar and in that moment, he had never hated Negan more for reducing him to this. A docile _wife_ trudging along mindlessly like a wild animal that had spent too long in captivity. 

He pauses at the threshold of the bar. This was the event horizon to Negan’s black hole, the point of no return. He could feel it in every fibre of his being. He looked at his watch -7:01am- and snorted derisively. One minute past schedule, the last act of a defeated man, the gravitational pull was too strong, he’d never stood a chance since Negan entered his orbit. 

He enters the room and does a double take as he feels as though he is experiencing déjà vu. The wives have seemingly all returned to the same positions they were in the day before. Tiffany- the youngest of the wives, late teens, pale skin and black hair, is sat on the chaise lounge by the window resuming the game of chess with Misumi. Sherry- late twenties, early thirties with shoulder length dirty blonde hair stands by the bar in the far-right corner. Kae, early thirties was sat on the couch nearest the door, head turned away, long black curled tresses spilling over her dark shoulders as she wrote in a book. There’s a coffee table and then another chaise lounge where Amber sits furthest away from the door. Her face he can remember from his wedding, or at the very least her big doe eyes sparkling with tears. In truth, she looks no better, half-starved and frail. He’s quite sure three of the wives are suffering from an eating disorder. 

Last but not least is Megan, the eldest of the wives, late thirties with straight ginger hair combed to one side and resting on a pale shoulder. She has retained her seat by the faux fireplace in a grey antique armchair and she gifts him a rare smile when she notices she has his attention. Megan, he realises, is Judith. He smiles back and walks over towards the bar. 

Sherry stands by the window, nursing a glass of bourbon and he takes his previous position at the other end of the curved bar nearest the wall beside an impressive array of glasses and whiskeys on a gold-plated shelf mounted behind the bar. 

There is no meal time he has come to learn, instead there is a table behind the chaise lounge Amber occupies filled with finger foods and salad and a large pitcher of lemonade that is checked up on throughout the day by Barry. He hadn’t realised he would no longer be receiving his regular meals yesterday and before they were due to leave he stuffed his mouth full of sandwiches undoubtedly leaving a trail of crumbs from the bar to his bedroom. 

His stomach still ached from the emptiness. He should have filled his pockets but he hadn’t been thinking, or he had been thinking too much expecting Negan to burst through his door and punish him for being in possession of contraband. It’s stupid now he thinks about it, but Negan was unpredictable and his actions varied from asinine to insane. His stomach groaned in hunger as he cast his eyes towards the table but he would not answer the call. He was being chivalrous, allowing the ladies to eat first. 

He breathes a sigh of relief when Megan eventually stands and ventures over to the table. The others do not eat and he had waited long enough he almost sprints over to the table. “Hi,” he finally returns her greeting as he stands the opposite side of the table eyeing the ham sandwiches. She looks up startled and offers him a tight smile but no words, she was suspicious of him too then. He drops his head and eyes the food and grabs whatever was in reach, tossing it onto a plate before leaving the table. 

His mood had soured and appetite seemingly perished as he returned to the bar forlorn. He was surprised when Sherry walked over, poured him a glass of bourbon, patted him on the shoulder with a knowing look and returned to her position. He didn’t have the words to thank her, instead he raised his glass in a toast to her and downed the drink feeling the burn down his throat. 

He knew it has been a stupid idea as soon as he had done it, and yet he poured himself another glass all the same. He didn’t drink it, he just nursed it staring into the amber liquid as though it held all the answers while he ate the sandwiches in hopes of soaking up the alcohol he had mindlessly consumed. 

 

Hours ticked by agonizing slowly. He looked at his watch- 1:47pm- and groaned. He needed to do something, learn to play chess, or write. Kae’s pen hadn’t stopped, he was surprised she hadn’t run out of paper or ink. Megan had her head buried in a Mills and Boon novel while Sherry was either knocking back shots of Patrón or chain smoking by the open window. Amber…he feared for Amber. She was a jittery mess; her eyes were wide but glazed over and her lips were trembling as though she was reliving a horror past but very present for her. 

The others had tried to speak to her throughout the day in hushed voices so he could not hear, lifting their heads and staring him dead in the eye after they had spoken. Some of the words he did hear as they were spoken passionately and what he could glean from the exchange was that Amber was planning to do something the wives were adamant she should not do. What that was, was a mystery. Was divorcing Negan an option? For him it was not, Negan had made that abundantly clear but he did not know what inspired the wives to say ‘I do.’ He could guess, an easy life, food, medicine but that only seemed applicable to fifty percent of the wives. Amber, Tiffany and Sherry were seemingly held against their will as much as he was, and he could see how it had happened, they were attractive and Negan had a way of getting what he wanted while making his victim think they had asked for it. 

He doesn’t bother to lend a sympathetic ear or a shoulder to cry on, he knows when he isn’t wanted. Sure, the atmosphere isn’t hostile but it is tense and weighted because of him. He doubts he would make a good Agony Uncle anyway, his empathy only ran so thin before it became disgust. He could very well be projecting his self-loathing onto her. On one hand, he wants to take her in his arms and calm her down promising that everything would be okay. While on the other hand he wanted to slap her in the face, tell her to suck it up, that there’s no room for self-pity and vulnerability in this world. People like her got good people killed and really what the fuck did she have to cry about? He had lost sympathy for her three hours ago, now all he had was scorn. 

He’d thought being locked up in a room with no one to talk to was awful but now he’d give anything to go back to his room and be alone. Being alone was better than being in company and ignored. The wives looked at him as the sheltered folks of Alexandria looked at him, like he was a wild animal with no business being among them. Nevermind how he got there he was an outcast and they were not subtle about it, excluding him from their perfect little bubble. Bubbles burst, they always do. 

 

2:06pm the tension in the room escalates exponentially. His hand stills on the glass of bourbon he was rolling on the bar and he looks around the room and seemingly looks upon an oil painting as the ladies remain still, wooden characters caught in a time frame, even Kae’s pen has stopped moving. Then he hears it, the stomping footsteps just before Negan appears in the doorway, arms wide open, a king surveying his kingdom with Lucille strangely absent. 

The wives seem to shrink in his presence curling in on themselves to escape his notice. That seems to escape his notice, or he simply does not care as he brings his hands together in a loud clap and then rubs them together eyeing his harem as though he were a child in a candy shop. None look back at him, keeping themselves still and small as he looks around the room, eyeing Kae first and then Tiffany, Misumi, and Sherry before landing on him. 

He is looking back, in fairness he doesn’t know any better. Negan’s eyes alight in joy and his lips part in a smile revealing a row of perfect white teeth before he saunters over to him coming to a halt in front of him. He leans over the bar and collects a beer and twists the cap before suggestively licking the neck of the bottle before putting it into his mouth, tipping it back, swallowing a mouthful with a smack of his lips. 

“How’s my favourite husband?” He asks, voice low and rough while his eyes never leave his face. 

“Alive.” He answers simply and Negan snorts. 

“You gonna ask about me?” 

“I don’t want to give you the impression that I care.” 

“Ooh you badass, someone woke up with extra spunk today and baby, I can help with that.” He takes another swig of beer and then licks the rim of the bottle before poking his tongue inside it with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

Despite his best efforts his cock twitches with interest. “Pervert.” 

Negan laughs again, cheeks flushed and puts the bottle down. “I know, but you like me anyway, try to deny it but you know the truth, just like me.” He can’t ignore the sexually charged atmosphere between them and as Negan inclines his head in a prelude to a kiss he meets him halfway, pressing their lips firmly together. When he tries to bite, Negan pulls away, eyes heavy-lidded as he licks his lips savouring the taste of him and then holds his hand out. 

He takes it, thoughtlessly, wanting only the oblivion that sex provided. “You lot are stiffer than I am,” Negan announces to the room as they walk towards the door and his wives quake at the volume of his voice. “If you showed as much life as you showed cleavage we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. Think about it, nothing matters when you’re dead.” He adds the latter as though it were an afterthought and not the gist of his proclamation. He had seen his wives become shrinking violets and as a man sick with self-love it had bruised his inflated ego. 

Rick doesn’t like it. If he was considered the cock in the hen house, then Negan was the fox and he wanted him out. He tugs on his hand, pulling him from the room and he can feel Negan become heavier as he leans back, making him work for it. He should let him go, watch him fall on his ass, but he wants whatever this was between them. He wants it and he hates himself for it. 

When they enter Negan’s bedroom he stands by the leather couch as Negan closes the door and twists the lock. He unwinds the red scarf from around his neck and tosses it onto the bed where Lucille currently rests and then unzips his leather jacket, shrugging it off and laying it down on the bed. He approaches then, slow, predatory until he was pressed flush against him sharing the same breath before their lips met once more in an open wet kiss.

Rick reaches out with his left hand and grasps the nape of Negan’s neck before breaking the kiss and exerting pressure, pushing the older man down. Negan looks at him, pupils blown in lust before he allows himself to be guided onto his knees and his hands work quickly and efficiently to release his cock. He doesn’t hesitate to take him into his mouth and he moans at the sensation of the wet heat surrounding his cock and runs his fingers through Negan’s gelled back hair, scratching his scalp. 

“Natural born cocksucker,” the words leave his lips involuntarily and Negan hums in agreement sending skittering volts of pleasure up his spine. His cock swells in Negan’s mouth and the rush of blood leaves him feeling dizzy. He drops his head and uses his right hand on Negan’s shoulder to balance himself while his left tangles in the short strands guiding his bobbing head. 

_‘You are mine, that doesn’t mean I’m not yours.’_

The words spoken on his wedding day echo in his mind. He’d thought they were hollow at the time but now watching Negan tend to him with hollowed cheeks and a look of bliss on face he can see they were not and he hates him for it. Hates him for caring. Hates him for being one of those that put him on a pedestal. He doesn’t want his love, he doesn’t want his hate, he simply wants nothing. Oblivion. He’s tired, he’s so fucking tired. 

He punishes Negan for his love, forcing his cock down his throat, making him gag and not releasing him. He could kill him, choke him to death. Negan was never the problem; the idea of Negan was the problem and the wait for the next shit storm once storm Negan passed. Negan’s face has reddened and the crimson tide is spilling down his neck but he won’t struggle, even as tears leak from his eyes and stain his cheeks. 

He wants him to struggle. He wants him to feel how suffocated and trapped he felt, how he still feels even in the open air. Negan breathes through his nose and he considers pinching it, depriving him of air as he deprived him of freedom. It’s foolhardy and dangerous but he can’t stop even if he wanted to. He rocks his hips fucking Negan’s velvet throat more turned on than he had any right to be and only too soon and not soon enough he is spilling down Negan’s throat and releasing him from his death grip. 

Negan’s smouldering eyes stare into his very soul as he stands and immediately grabs him, his gloved right hand cradling the back of his head as he pulls him into a kiss. His lips part from the shock of it and Negan’s tongue plunders his mouth and they share his seed between them. He swallows the bitter taste and sucks on Negan’s tongue wanting more, so consumed by him that Negan has to push him away, breathing heavily swallowing the last of his essence before pressing their foreheads together. 

“Just so you know I’m about fifty percent more into you now.” Negan’s hands are on him again, tucking his cock back in and zipping up. He reaches for Negan’s member but his wrist gets caught and Negan brings his hand up to his mouth and kisses his scarred knuckles. “No need, babydoll, you already took care of it.” Negan kisses him then, chaste and sweet. “Thought I’d lost you but there’s the Rick Grimes I know and love.”

He said it again. Rick pushes away from him needing space. He walks over to the bathroom and thinking better of it he approaches the second door finding it still locked. “Wrong door,” Negan calls out watching him like a hawk. 

“What’s in this room?”

“Nothing that concerns you.” He pauses, ruse blown and lingers by the bed. 

“What now?” He asks, looking at his watch, 2:32pm. 

“That’s up to you, dollface. Stay here with me, wait ‘till lil’ Negan raises his helmeted head again and let me properly rock your world. Or, go back to the bar and sit on your pretty little keister while I choose one of my wives to spend quality time with.” 

“I’ll stay.” He offers weakly, damning his martyr complex. 

“Atta boy.”


	13. Mark

Rick drummed his fingers on the walnut bar and eyed the door. Nothing. He looked at his watch – 3:24pm – and ground his teeth. Negan was late. Usually Negan collected him from the bar between 2-3pm except for Mondays when he would see him off, Carl really, and wait for their return with only one AK-47 aimed at his head. Progress. 

He didn’t know why Negan still made the Alexandria run personally. He’d expected him to the first time, just to beat his chest and piss on some trees marking his territory and then again to check up on Daryl. His continuing journeys were worrying especially since Negan would return with a furrowed brow looking perplexed. Something was troubling him, and when he had asked, his questioning was shut down immediately. He tried to be sly about it that first week, offering to unload the ‘tribute’ just to see how Alexandria was coping but Negan had rounded on him so suddenly he had thought his long-awaited meeting with Lucille had arrived. Cooler heads prevailed in the form of Carl, standing in between them and talking both sides down. It was soul destroying having Carl suggest he should go back inside and stay safe, _let the men do it_ was what he had meant, mimicking Negan’s words and believing them to be his own. He hadn’t meant to be condescending, he knew, Carl had always been overprotective of him, and when he and Negan were together sparks flew both in aggression and passion. 

That had been the only hiccup since his routine changed. He’d be in the bar by 7am and stand at the end of the bar beside the decanters of whiskey while the wives talked amongst themselves and ignored him. He hadn’t expected Negan to return so soon since choosing him on Tuesday but the very next day Negan returned and eyed his wives who shrunk in fear before his eyes looked to him. He was looking back again and Negan had taken acknowledgement for invitation and walked over towards him, finishing his drink- bourbon- that he had been nursing rather than drinking before taking his hand and leading him from the bar. 

His curfew was at 8pm and though Negan usually arrived by 2pm he never returned to the bar and instead remained in Negan’s room until curfew. Negan was a stickler for the rules and would eject him from his room, telling him in no uncertain terms that he will not spend the night with a spouse unless it was their honeymoon and their honeymoon was officially over due to his behaviour. 

The next day, Thursday, Negan arrived at the bar closer to 3pm and walked directly over to him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him from the room. His heart had pounded rapidly in his chest as he tried to work out which of his lies or sins of omission Negan had uncovered. None, as it happened, he was dragged into Negan’s room and stopped short when Carl lifted his head. He was sat on the leather couch, brown leather-bound ledger on his lap and a pencil in his hand. There was an open bottle of beer on the coffee table, untouched, much to Negan’s chagrin and Carl smiled thinly before continuing his work. Negan had closed the door, shutting himself inside and Rick couldn’t help but draw parallels between supervised visitation. His topics of conversation with Carl were limited but he was grateful for the time he got to spend with his son. Carl was more of a hothead than he was and to see him sat quietly, reading ledgers, it was almost a dream come true. 

His developing relationship with Negan however, that was the stuff of nightmares. Carl had found something in Negan that he couldn’t find in him. A confidant. A non-judgemental teacher. Acceptance. Negan wasn’t afraid to show his love for Carl, and there was pride in his voice whenever he spoke to or about him that Carl responded to. Negan accepted him for who and what he was while Rick had shamed him, taking his gun away from him, trying to stop the inevitability of Carl’s transformation. He had only wanted him to retain a little innocence of youth and not become cold and desensitised but it was like retaining water in a colander. He realised how it looked, like he was disappointed in Carl when it wasn’t true. Carl was his best friend, and honestly, he idolised his strength but he was still his father and he would protect him even from himself. 

Every day since then Negan would come to collect him. Sometimes Carl would be in the room, sometimes not. If there was a pattern to Negan’s behaviour, he couldn’t find one. Their interactions weren’t solely based in Negan’s bedroom, after the first week, Negan had collected him and taken him to the workplace floor where Carl was stood over by the ping pong table, paddle in hand. He’d walked down with Negan, taken the proffered beer and sat down on the cable wheel, as Negan took up the second paddle. There was a basket of balls beside Negan and the surrounding area was full of children ready to grab at the missed balls. There were many. Since losing his eye Carl’s depth perception was poor as well as his hand-eye coordination. Rick had meant to teach him, to help him but it was just one thing after another. 

He hates himself for it. Hates that Negan is a better father than he is and he makes a promise that Carl will no longer be an afterthought. Carl comes first. The ping pong lessons pay off, slowly but surely. Carl tended to have meltdowns in the beginning and while he pushed, Negan accepted and calmed the situation and then challenged Carl channelling his hate and aggression. He’d take his hate for the betterment of Carl’s health even when Carl’s disdain obviously hurt him. Rick could only watch on slack-jawed as Negan encouraged his son selflessly, because he loved him, because he wanted to be his father. Right then, Negan had more right to be Carl’s father than he had. 

He wasn’t sure when his feelings for Negan shifted and changed. It wasn’t love, he wouldn’t allow it to be but it was an addiction. Each taste of his lips left him wanting more, another kiss, another shot of heroin. Negan was his drug of choice, his poison. His fingers itched to be on his skin again, to scratch or to bruise. He was never gentle, he couldn’t be, and Negan took his aggression but did not mirror it. No matter how deep he scratched or how hard he bit Negan would always gently put him onto his back, open him up until he was out of his mind with lust before entering him. He’d tried to goad a reaction, telling him that Daryl was better, and that Eugene was bigger to no response. He tried closer to home, saying he wanted to fuck Dwight and Barry, at the same time, with them both inside him as they laughed at Negan. He struck a nerve, he knew he had but it didn’t stop Negan from making love to him. That’s what it was, or in the very least what he was trying to do and he hated it. Hated that he wanted it, hated that he craved it, hated that he _needed_ it. 

He drums his fingers on the bar again, agitated. 3:43pm. He drums his fingers harder, knuckles white from the pressure as he stares at the door. The wives cast him wary glances but he ignores them. His relationship with the wives had evolved since he became Negan’s obsession, monopolising Negan’s time and attention so his wives became obsolete. They appreciated his presumed sacrifice and took to bringing him a plate of food each morning and a glass of lemonade, refilling it when the glass became half full. They had even attempted to strike up a conversation with him but he had found he had no time for them, though in truth it was only jealousy rearing its ugly head. He didn’t like the wives, not because they were bad people, because they weren’t but because they shared his husband. He was sick of sharing spouses, Negan was his but instead of addressing the problem he remained quiet and let it fester as he always does. 

The room becomes silent and Rick stands up straighter hearing Negan’s footfalls on the cement. He leaves his position by the bar, presumptuous, desperate, fingers twitching to grab a hold of Negan’s leather jacket and to pull him into his room. Negan arrives and does a double take, startled to find him by the door, before laughing a low rumble in his chest. 

“About time.” He snaps grabbing a hold of his jacket and pulling him down into a ravenous kiss. One of the wives’ startles, he doesn’t care to learn which one, as he wrestles with Negan out into the corridor, mouths joint and hands exploring as they tussle towards Negan’s bedroom. He appreciates the short distance as Negan presses him up against the door, kissing him thoroughly before opening the door. He walks backwards towards the bed, pressing Negan’s hand against his bulging crotch before sitting down and then laying back spreading his legs. Negan climbs onto the bed, knee placed between his thighs giving him something to rub against as the older man leans down over him and captures his lips once more.

“A-hem!” They part like scolded children and Rick sits up, finding Carl sat on the leather couch poring over two ledgers splayed out on the coffee table. 

“Shit kid, I thought you left already. Had a hot date with, which one is it this week?” Negan teases and looks to him but he shrugs. Carl won’t discuss his love life with him and it was only through Negan’s teasing that he learnt Carl had quite the following unlike Alexandria where Enid was his only viable option, the Sanctuary must seem like the Playboy Mansion in comparison. “Jade, Rosemary, Bree…or was it Maria? Damn son, you take after your daddy, the cool one not him.” 

“The fact that you referred to yourself as cool means that you’re not and her name is Brooke.” Carl stated matter-of-factly and jotted something down in the brown ledger. “There, learn to carry the one next time, dumb-fuck.” 

“Carl!” Rick admonished while Negan laughed heartedly and fell on the couch beside Carl, looking over his mistake. 

“Well fuck me, good eye, kid, good _eye."_ Negan teased, ruffling Carl’s hair much to his annoyance. His smile fell when his eyes fell on the black ledger. “The fuck is that doing here?” 

“That’s why I’m late, re-direct never got delivered, now the stocktake is incorrect.” Rick blinked, confused over their exchange. 

“The fuck you mean it never got delivered?” Negan raged, jumping up, animated in his fury. 

“Don’t shout at me, asshole, shout at Mark.” 

“Mark?” Negan turned suddenly voice cold and expression so dark Carl shrunk back cowed.

“I-I said they should have gone without him,” Carl stutters, no longer speaking with confidence. “But I found out too late and they waited for him, I’ll have a new team send it tomorrow morning first thing.” 

“It’s alright kid,” Negan soothed but from the look on his face it was anything but alright. “Go on your date, I’ll sort the redirect.” He wasn’t swearing and yet his words sounded more menacing without the curse words. 

“Okay?” Carl answered unsure and stood up while Negan continued to scowl at the black ledger. “Uh, bye Dad,” he gave a brief wave and left the room and Rick could do nothing but stare at Negan. The man was rage personified and though it terrified him in his heart of hearts he was also turned on. 

“Fuck!” Negan exclaimed suddenly. “Fucking fuckity fuck fucking bastard. Cum-guzzling fucking cunt of a whoring bitch.” He stomped over to the dresser and lifted Lucille, swinging her aggressively before walking back over to him. “Play dates over babe, go back to the bar.”

“I don’t want…” He paused and moved his head back when Lucille became level with his face almost scratching his chin. 

“I’ll escort you.” Negan offered chivalrously whilst unchivalrously grabbing his arm and pulling him from the bed. He dragged him from the room and down the corridor before pushing him into the bar once more and storming off immediately. 

Rick rubbed at his bruised arm unsure what happened as the wives eye him with the same confusion he felt. He straightens his jacket and ignores the ache in his groin as he resumes his position by the bar, pouring himself a bourbon and knocking it back. Sherry casts him a concerned look as she sips her water no longer relying on alcohol to numb her pain. He shrugs, since he does not know why Negan rejected him. He doesn’t know the inner workings of the Sanctuary, Negan had made sure of that. He pours another bourbon and knocks that back just as quickly scowling at the afterburn. 

He's four drinks in by the time Negan returns. He glares at him, but Negan stands by the door wearing an expression between shock and anger as he stares at Amber. He walks over to her, slowly, predatorily and perches on the coffee table right in front of her. 

“Amber, baby,” he begins, leaning forward invading her space. “You know I don’t want anyone here that doesn’t want to be here, right?” Rick scoffs, he’s standing so close he can’t help but overhear. Amber looks absolutely terrified with her head down in subjugation as she nods along to his lie. “If you want to leave and go back to Mark… you can. But what can’t you do?” 

“Cheat on you,” Amber answers voice soft and fragile. 

“That is exactly right you can’t cheat on me.” Negan hissed and Rick had enough and stomped over pushing Negan back out of Amber’s space. 

“Leave it.”

“This doesn’t concern you.”

“You’re scaring her.”

“Am I scaring you?” Negan asked Amber who immediately shook her head. “Stop being jealous, Rick and take a fucking seat.” He does so, reluctantly, glaring at the back of Negan’s head as he goes. “There’s plenty of other gals who would love to take your place and there’s a few job openings that I can think of. You want to go back to Mark and your Mom? Hell, I’ll put you all on the same job.” 

“No!” Amber squawks, terrified. “I-I’ll stay, I’m sorry.” 

“You know what that means, right?” Negan asks as Amber begins to cry. He ignores her tears and lifts her chin. “You know what that means, right?” He asks more forcibly and Rick is up again, bolstered by the alcohol in his system and slaps Negan’s hand away. 

“You leave her alone, what the fuck does it matter? You haven’t touched her in months.”

“There are rules,” Negan replies gravely. 

“Fuck the rules, you made them you can break ‘em and remake them.”

“You need to sit your jealous ass down before I put you down. Me and Amber here are redefining our understanding with each other, ain’t that right, darlin’?” 

“Yes,” Amber agreed eagerly with tears streaming down her face. “I love you, Negan.” Rick baulked and stepped back, disgusted, humiliated, jealous. 

“Oh, of course you do darlin’. I don’t know why you’re crying, it’s all gonna work out aces for you.” He kisses her forehead condescendingly before standing up and rounding on him. “Dear husband, a word.” He points to the bar and Rick follows. He doesn’t have chance to lift his drink before Negan has him pushed up against the wall with his hand between his legs as he mouths at his ear. “Never try to undermine me again.” He squeezes his testicles and Rick shifts uncomfortably biting his lip to stifle his cry. “Watching you get jealous turns me the fuck on, I fucking burn for you and your little bitch ass, but,” he drops his hand and steps away. “Speaking of burning,” he leaves Rick’s space to stand in the centre of the room. “Meet me in the warehouse in twenty minutes, all of you.” With a brief bow and a smirk, Negan leaves the room and the wives come to life immediately making a fuss of Amber. 

Rick turns away and pours himself another drink and downs it hating what he has become. 

Not ten minutes later he is following the wives from the bar, down the corridor and down to the workplace floor, out the door and around to the back of the building. He was sure there was an easier way but they chose the scenic route to kill time and current circumstances made him follow. 

When they enter, the room is already crowded and the air is hot and humid due to the crowd but mostly due to the blazing furnace. He hears Amber’s wail of distress and watches as Tiffany and Sherry catch her before she falls. He looks towards the cause of her distress and sees a man before the furnace tied to a chair and assumes that must be Mark. 

“You know the deal!” Negan’s voice sounds somewhere from the heavens and the gathered crowd kneel, himself included after a fashion. He turns to see Negan walking along a steel platform with Carl trudging along three paces behind him holding Lucille. “What’s about to happen is gonna be hard to watch. I don’t want to do it. I wish I could just ignore the rules and let it slide but I can’t. Why?”

“The rules keep us alive.” The gathered reply in a monotone.

“That is right!” Negan announces and walks over to the steps. “We survive. We provide security to others. We bring civilisation back to this world. We are the Saviours. But we can’t do that without rules. Rules are what makes it all work. I know it’s not easy. But there’s always work. There is always a cost. Here, if you try to skirt it, if you try to cut that corner.” He pauses to laugh demonically. “Then it’s the iron for you.” He pauses, allows his words and threats to sink in. “On your feet,” he allows, walking down the steps with Carl following behind as the gathered stand. 

He doesn’t know how it happened but he finds himself separated from the wives, stood in between Doctor Carson and a janitor with a mop and bucket as the people gather around in a circle. Negan cuts through the crowd and pats Mark on the cheek, slaps him really, and walks over to Dwight by the furnace. 

“D,” he calls sauntering over and pulling a glove on. While Negan is distracted, Carl walks over to him and he throws an arm over his shoulders in comfort as Carl is shaking. Dwight pulls a metal rod from the flames and hanging from the end of it is an antique iron, the bottom glowing red from the heated metal. Negan takes hold of the handle, and addresses the man in the chair and for the first time he recognizes the weeping mess as the man who had taken him to the infirmary. The same man who his wedding ring truly belonged to. “Mark…I’m sorry” Negan says sounding anything but sorry. “But it is what it is.” Sherry clutches Amber in camaraderie and he finally understands how Dwight came by the hideous scarring on his face. 

He doesn’t miss the smirk adorning Negan’s lips as he approaches and presses the iron against Mark’s handsome face. Carl trembles in his arms as inhuman sobering cries fall from Mark’s lips as the sickening smell of burnt flesh permeates the air making his stomach roil. It’s agony on the ears but within seconds Mark’s head sags as he loses consciousness but Negan is unrelenting, following his sagging head down with the iron still pressed against him. When he finally pulls the iron away some of Mark’s blistered skin tears away from his cheek as Negan chuckles. 

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Negan asks but the room is silent save from Amber’s sobbing. Dwight holds the pole out to him and he re-hooks the iron. “Jesus, he pissed himself.” Rick had noticed the puddle forming under the young man but he would not have acknowledged it as Negan did. “Clean that up,” he addresses the janitor and then smiles when he finds him in the crowd. “Doc, I’m all done, do your thing.” Carson leaves the circle with a set look of disapproval on his face as Negan steps aside to address his captive audience. “Well, the pussy passed out. But it’s settled, we’re square, everything’s cool. Let Mark’s face be a daily reminder to him and to everyone else that the rules matter.” He says the latter directly towards Rick. “I hope that we all learned something today because I don’t ever want to have to do that again.” 

Carl is still trembling and babbling incoherently when Negan approaches them both. “Some crazy shit huh? You probably think I’m a lunatic. Come on,” he addresses Carl but Carl shies away from him. 

“Leave him alone,” Rick intervenes catching the narrowing of his eyes. “Please,” he amends. “I’ll come to your room,” he offers himself in Carl’s place. “I’ll come to your room.” He reiterates and Negan takes Lucille from Carl’s trembling hand and nods once and leaves without a word. “Carl?” Rick asks, panicked and turns his son to face him. “Carl, what’s wrong?”

“It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. I didn’t know, I spoke without thinking.” 

“Carl, listen to me, this is not your fault, okay?”

“I said his name and now they said I passed the test.” Tears spill from his eye and Rick pulls him into a tight embrace understanding the cause of Carl’s distress. 

Carl threw Mark under the bus. 

Carl was now a Saviour.


	14. Goodbye My Lover

The blue oil-stained overalls had the name Tony stitched over the left breast in red cotton. The young grease monkey holding the AK-47 directed at his head didn’t look like a Tony more like a Christopher. He couldn’t decipher his age. He had a youthful face and chubby cheeks that seemed to be baby fat rather than obesity. He was hefty but proportionate to his height and carried it well. There was a slope to his shoulders and judging by his ungainly walk one leg was longer than the other. 

He waved and ‘Tony’ struggled to still a smile that formed on his thick pink lips before surrendering to the inevitability and smiled and waved back. He was too innocent and trusting to be holding an AK-47, he could rush him, and a single shot would not be fired. It was a pointless scenario playing in his mind, he wouldn’t do shit and everyone was aware of it. As long as Negan had Carl then he had him by the balls and there was nothing he could do about it that didn’t end in more unnecessary deaths.

There’s a flash of light by the gate and he looks at his watch- 10:34am- too early for a return. ‘Tony’ is eyeing him through the lens and he points towards the gate and the mirror signals before standing up and wiping the dust from the back of his trousers. He doesn’t miss the look of confusion that crosses ‘Tony’s’ face when he eyes the gate and hears the distant roar of engines. 

Something isn’t right. He remains standing in his elevated position on the concrete platform and watches the convoy drive into sight with Negan’s white van unusually leading the charge. He tries not to read too much into it but he cannot shake the sense of foreboding. The convoy splinters as they drive up the dirt drive fanning out to their respective position as the three vans drive up along with an army surplus truck with a high canvas roof. 

Rick walks down the steps expecting Negan to hop out of the truck and cry his name to the heavens. When he reaches the bottom all four engines have been cut but no one is moving. There’s an eerie stillness to the air, the disquiet after a storm and he pauses his approach and looks through the window of the white van to find Negan staring back at him. 

He can’t think of a response other than a shrug but something tells him that would not be the appropriate action, so he remains still, arms down by his sides. When Negan finally exits the truck his leather jacket is open and the white shirt is stained with blood at the bottom and the top of his jeans are saturated with blood. He looks up, expecting an explanation and sees blood splatter on Negan’s neck and specks of it in his salt and pepper beard. A walker, he tries to tell himself. He killed a fresh walker but even in his own mind his reassurance sounds weak. 

Negan continues to glare at him before walking backwards towards the back of the army truck and disappears behind it. Carl steps out of the cab of the van holding Lucille and his eye is wide open beneath the brim of his hat and mouth agape. His skin is ashen as he shakes his head, parted lips trembling trying to frame words without sound. 

There’s some kind of scuffle behind the truck as dirt is kicked up. Some Saviour’s come into view, prodding and pushing a heavy-set man in brown shorts and a blue button-up with a burlap sack over his head, black hair protruding from the bottom and his hands tied behind his back. One of the Saviour’s removes the sack and Rick’s heart stills in his chest as he hears Eugene’s pathetic whimpers. 

“Eugene,” he speaks without thinking and steps forward. Carl intercepts him with a hand catching his jacket and he turns finding Carl shaking his head again. There’s a redness beneath his eye, tracks of tears long since shed but more were welling in the corner of his eye. 

“He killed Spencer and Olivia.” Carl whispers in a rush and his head swims and he sways unsteadily on his feet. Carl’s arms enclosed around his waist keeping him up until he found his equilibrium and glared at the back of the truck. No more deaths, that was their deal. 

Anger courses through his veins. Negan betrayed his trust. He’d torn himself apart, allowed himself to become this _thing_ that Negan wanted all for the protection of his people and it had been for nothing. His hands clench into fists and he steps forward to put an end to the charade but Carl is tugging on his jacket again. 

“That’s not all,” he looks at Carl, watches the tears spill from his eye wondering what more could there be. 

He turns his attention to the back of the truck and staggers forward, lightheaded as Negan reappears clutching Judith against his chest. “No,” he whimpers, breath thinning and heart hammering as he watches the spectacle with tear-blurred vision. Judith is asleep in a grey dress clutching her stuffed elephant in a death-grip as her head rests against Negan’s shoulder, blonde hair hiding her face. 

“Aaron?” He asks Carl, panicked, as Negan glares at him again. 

“They beat him up pretty bad, but he wouldn’t tell.” 

“Who told?”

_‘You got snakes in your camp, Rick.’_ Negan’s words come back to haunt him. 

“Spencer.” Carl quiets as Negan approaches and stops beside him. 

“Take Lucille and see if you can get her fixed up,” he orders completely ignoring him. At Carl’s nod, Negan walks on, barging him with his unoccupied right shoulder. 

“She’s not mine!” He shouts panicked, needing Judith to be safe and away from Negan. He watches Negan pause but he does not turn and he cannot look away even to gauge Carl’s reaction. He was a smart boy, he knew the dates didn’t match, he hadn’t revealed anything just said an unspoken truth. “She’s not,” he reiterates. He’d already lost one child to the Saviours he couldn’t lose another. 

“You love her?” Negan asks without turning. 

“Yes.” 

“You think of her as your daughter?” It’s a trick question and he’ll damn himself for answering. 

“She’s not mine.”

“Bullshit!” Negan snaps and turns, graveyard glare in full force. “You love her, you raised her, she’s your daughter. Blood don’t mean shit and you know it, so quit fucking lying to me, asshole.” 

“Please don’t.”

“Real tired of your shit.” Negan snaps and then spares a look at Judith resting peacefully in his arms before making his way into the Sanctuary, Rick on his heels, Judith proving to be an invisible chain binding him to Negan. 

By kidnapping Carl, he had him by the balls but with Judith he had his heart and with both he held his future and legacy. He follows Negan to his room, trembling in fear and rage, a lethal cocktail that felt heavy on his stomach and left him anxious. He watches as Negan walks over to the dresser and opens the top draw, balancing Judith against his chest with one arm as he rummages through the content, making a high pitch sound in victory as he finds what he is looking for. 

Rick circles the bed and sees that Negan is clutching a silver key before he shifts over to the left and slips the key into the lock of the undisclosed room. The door opens and Negan slips through and Rick’s curiosity rides rough shod over his common sense and he hesitantly follows him inside. 

When he had thought about the room, he thought nothing good would come of it. He thought he might find the corpse of Negan’s first wife mummified by time and humidity, or a collection of heads, since it wouldn’t be the first time finding such a room. He was ill prepared for the gender-neutral peach pastel painted walls, or the two dressers against the right wall full of baby and children’s clothes one for boys and one for girls. There’s an assortment of toys- brand new by appearance- against the far wall in a pyramid of large wicker baskets. Behind the door is a wooden cot where Negan gently places Judith down and he is able to see the princess bed in the far-left corner and a boy’s bed in the shape of a race car opposite. 

He’s stunned into silence, trying to link the room to the man and coming up short. He barely notices when Negan sets up a baby monitor before he’s being pushed from the room and Negan leaves the door open a fraction while attaching the baby monitor to his belt. 

When he looks up once more his smile dissolves into scorn. “You got anymore sprogs you didn’t tell me about, prick?” 

“I didn’t tell you about Judith because she isn’t mine.” He defends though the words taste like bile on his tongue. He loves her to death and that is why she can’t be here, he can’t watch that innocence putrefy. 

“Hmm.” Negan grunts noncommittedly and his rage begins to outweigh his fear. 

“You killed Spencer and Olivia, I thought we had a deal?” 

“Ooh,” Negan laughs and his rage intensifies. “You going mad poppa bear on me, Rick? Before you get your panties in a twist maybe consider what I’ve done for you.” He pauses having the audacity to believe he would even do such a thing while he stands before him covered in his friend’s blood. “Spencer? Oh, he told me all about you, even told me about my daughter you’ve been hiding from me.”

“She’s not your…”

“Temper temper, and yes Rick, she is. Now Spencer, he wanted me to kill you and offered himself in your place, I took him out, for you. Then another one, a fiery Latina, she shot Lucille trying to kill me and I gave Alexandria one less mouth to feed and by the size of her, that mouth did some major damage. Personally, I wouldn’t have picked her to be the one to go but Arat didn’t trust her and there was a price to be paid. I fucking bent over backwards to please you today, the least you could say is thank you.” 

“Fuck you!” Rick spat and threw a punch, catching the older man on the cheek, making him stagger backwards. He threw another, catching him on the chin and Negan fell back onto the bed. He leapt onto the bed, knees straddling Negan’s waist and put his hands around his throat and began to squeeze. Negan’s broken laughter incensed him and so he released one hand and balled it into a fist wanting to crack that pinball smile. He swung as Negan’s knee dug into the small of his back and missed his mark barely grazing Negan’s temple with his knuckles while his hand moved from Negan’s neck to help balance himself. 

A punch to his jaw had him momentarily seeing stars and he slumped to his right, falling onto his side on the mattress. His world still spun as he tried to mount an offense but Negan was up, shoving him onto his front while twisting his left arm behind his back and pushing up at the elbow causing him to scream out in pain from the agony in his shoulder. 

“Stop it! Calm the fuck down, I’ll break it, God help me I fucking will.” 

“Go to hell!” 

“I fucking will and I’m taking you with me.” Negan growled, forcing his head down so his mouth and nose was smothered against the quilt. Rick’s struggles renewed as he began to hyperventilate but Negan’s grip on the back of his head was relentless and his legs were trapped against the bed by Negan’s thighs. His shoulder was in agony as he felt the ligament tear and his throat burned by shouting and trying to draw in lung-fulls of non-existent air. 

The tension left his body and he sagged against the mattress. He wanted to live, to watch Carl become the man he was well on his way to becoming and Judith. He wanted to show her the world, despite how incredibly fucked up it was, there was always something good to find, had to be. He wanted to protect her and teach her how to survive and selfishly he wanted to die an old man surrounded by his children and grandchildren. But to live in this world comes at a cost and he was officially bankrupt. His heart slowed as the air expelled from his lungs. His eyes grew heavy and he closed them, there was no peace to make, whatever awaited him was richly deserved. 

The hand from the back of his head is suddenly removed and his arm is freed as he is pushed onto his back lightheaded and drawing deep breaths for his oxygen deprived lungs. His left arm hangs loosely at his side so he uses his right elbow to prop himself up, vision fuzzy as he feels the cold bite of steel against his jugular. 

“Well, look. At. You.” Something drips onto his chest and he realises it’s Spencer’s blood dripping from the knife. “I have to give it to you, I actually thought you had changed but you’re still that arrogant prick that killed all my men. So, were you just using me for sex because that would just tickle my balls if you were.” 

“We had a deal,” he hisses through clenched teeth. He played Negan’s game, he had surrendered himself and he was coping, in a fashion but his surrender had been for nothing. His people were starving and being picked off one by one, he hadn’t agreed to that. 

“This crap again?” Negan rolled his eyes and removed the knife. “Maybe I should just kill you, I mean why am I trying so hard? I could be a suburban dad, get me a nice place in Alexandria, maybe move in with Maggie the not-so-dead widow. Tell me Rick, whose grave was I stood over, fucking shedding a tear?” 

Rick remained quiet steadying his breathing. “Well shit, this sucks. Good job Lucille isn’t here because she would tear the hell outta that pretty face.” Negan sighed and began to pace. “I don’t know, Rick, you fucked me over good, I can admit that. Thought I was being a gentleman, well…lesson learned.” He rounds on him quickly and the knife tears through his clothes like a knife through warm butter. He clutches his stomach fearing he has been eviscerated but the searing pain never comes and when he moves his hand away- his left hanging uselessly- he is faced with a clean palm. 

He lays still as Negan cuts through the suit and it feels like he is shedding a skin. He can’t be that person anymore, he can’t take back his actions and he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he has fucked up. The punishment doesn’t bear thinking about. 

“I was too soft with you, I see that now.” He nods to himself and flicks the knife cutting his boxer briefs from thigh to hip and glancing his skin with the blade. “I’m not mad, guess I’m just disappointed. Don’t know what the fuck you wished to accomplish, now get the fuck up.” He kicks his thigh with his boot and Rick hisses before standing, watching his jacket and shirt fall away from body. His trousers and boxers stay on defiantly much to Negan’s chagrin. 

“Take them off, shoes and socks too, come on.” He does so slowly, humiliation in every action as he knows his baby girl is only behind the door directly behind Negan. “Good,” Negan says, licking his lips and he shivers in revulsion, disgusted with himself for becoming dependant on him and forgetting just who he was. 

“The watch too, you don’t deserve it.” He takes his watch off and aggressively slaps it into Negan’s open palm and watches the older man stuff it into his pocket. His left cheek is bright red and there’s a lump on his chin from when he socked him in the jaw. He doesn’t care to know what he looks like as his jaw aches terribly from that disorientating punch. 

Negan grabs his left wrist and twists it up behind his back again and he cries out in agony as it feels as though his shoulder is on fire. “Get moving, prick.” Negan hisses into his ear and shoves him forward, frogmarching him out of the room, taking two rights and then down four flights of stairs out into another corridor. 

How they encounter no one is a stroke of luck as he is paraded around naked to break his spirit. Two left turns and a long straight they come to a tiny room with no light and a used bucket in the corner. With a shove, he stumbles into the room, catching his foot on the bucket and spilling the content on the floor as the door slams shut and locks. He turns, back against the wall as the stench of urine fills his nostrils and his feet become wet, as he hears Negan’s low laugh. 

“Don’t worry about Carl or Judith, I’ll take real good care of them. To be continued, asshole.” He hears the click of Negan’s boots as he walks away and throws himself against the door, banging his fists against the unforgiving steel. 

How long he stands there he does not know but his right hand is weakening and his left is all but useless. He drops his head and presses his forehead against the cold metal and allows himself to cry before the stench of stale piss becomes overbearing and he turns and wretches into the bucket he upturns. 

His stomach is empty and nothing comes up when he hears the rickety old cart Barry used to deliver him his meals. It stops outside his door and he hears movement as he moves over to the door readying to rush him and escape. All is quiet, until he hears the sound of a piano playing and a voice begin to sing. 

_Did I disappoint you or let you down?_  
Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?  
'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,  
Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.  
So I took what's mine by eternal right.  
Took your soul out into the night.  
It may be over but it won't stop there,  
I am here for you if you'd only care.  
You touched my heart you touched my soul.  
You changed my life and all my goals.  
And love is blind and that I knew when,  
My heart was blinded by you.  
I've kissed your lips and held your hand.  
Shared your dreams and shared your bed.  
I know you well, I know your smell.  
I've been addicted to you. 

_Goodbye my lover._  
Goodbye my friend.  
You have been the one.  
You have been the one for me. 

_I am a dreamer and when I wake,_  
You can't break my spirit - it's my dreams you take.  
And as you move on, remember me,  
Remember us and all we used to be  
I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile.  
I've watched you sleeping for a while.  
I'd be the father of your child.  
I'd spend a lifetime with you.  
I know your fears and you know mine.  
We've had our doubts but now we're fine,  
And I love you, I swear that's true.  
I cannot live without you. 

_Goodbye my lover._  
Goodbye my friend.  
You have been the one.  
You have been the one for me. 

_And I still hold your hand in mine._  
In mine when I'm asleep.  
And I will bare my soul in time,  
When I'm kneeling at your feet. 

_Goodbye my lover._  
Goodbye my friend.  
You have been the one.  
You have been the one for me. 

_I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow._  
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.  
I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow.  
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow. 

The song finishes and Rick glares at the door in confusion. Had it meant to mean something? He hears movement again but the person is walking away. 

_Did I disappoint you or let you down?  
Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown? _

Rick resumes banging on the door as the song begins to repeat. 

“Let me out! Negan!” 

_Goodbye my lover._  
Goodbye my friend.  
You have been the one.  
You have been the one for me. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song used is called Goodbye My Lover by James Blunt. I personally love it and could play it all day, much to my roommates annoyance.


	15. Judas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay, I launched 'All Roads Lead to Terminus' as a kick up the arse and it seems to have worked. Fingers crossed. 
> 
> 4 or 5 chapters left, depending on a epilogue for those who asked.

_Did I disappoint you or let you down?_

Rick threw his head back knocking his cranium against the unforgiving brick as the song started again. Pain blossomed from the back of his skull but it was a mere footnote on the list of injuries already plaguing his body. He drew his knees towards his chest and held them tightly for warmth as his body still ached and trembled from the freezing cold power wash he was forced to endure. 

It had been the third time he had been subjected to such torture. His door would be opened and as weak and as tired as he had become he would try to rush the Saviour and ultimately fail. He would then be thrown into the wall, left shoulder first giving the ligament no reprieve before his naked back was pushed against the rough brick and a forearm was barred across his throat restricting his airway. 

There were always two of them -Laurel and Hardy- he had mentally named them. One short and lithe the other taller and stocky with a menacing stare and yellowed teeth and breath that could melt the flesh from your bones. He never saw much of Laurel as Hardy was in his face, pressing against his windpipe and sneering while Laurel emptied his bucket, which was always left too long and overflowing, destroying his sense of smell by his own body’s waste. 

When Laurel returned with a clean and empty bucket the true torture would begin. His head would be bounced against the wall dazing him while Hardy jabbed him in the stomach, two right fists and a left before he retreated leaving him doubled over in pain. Then he would feel the bruising freezing cold high velocity water assault his naked body while Laurel and Hardy laughed at his shriveled cock and balls and then aim for them, forcing him to turn so they could assault his back and ass with the hose.

The spray was always relentless, pounding his weak body, forcing him to crumble and curl in on himself in the corner. Once he was down and beaten, they would turn the spray on the room and draw out the excess water with a mop before slamming his door shut and locking him in the miserable safe cold dark once more. 

He heard them finish up outside his door, cursing and laughing before the shadows of their feet passed the door and he was alone again. He dropped his head onto his knees and allowed fresh tears to fall. Pain was a result of the world they lived in, as common as night and day. Even starvation was natural as he would be given a sandwich sporadically by Dwight, the Daryl wannabe. He’d hiss ‘stay’ at him and throw a stale bun at him and slam the door before he was able to mount an offense. He’d eat it, famished, despite the hard bread cracking and scratching his gums, making them bleed and the dubious gravy covered chunks of meat. 

Despite the humiliation, it was the addiction that hurt the most. His skin had become accustomed to Negan’s touch and bristly kisses and his body ached to have Negan on top of him and inside him, pleasuring him. His body yearned for him and when temptation became too much he would claw at his own skin trying to rid himself of the disease and watch blood rise from the welts. He tried to tell himself that he did not miss Negan, his libido missed Negan. Yet at night when his thoughts were beyond his control he would dream of Negan between his thighs and awake sticky with his own release. 

He reached for his fourth finger on his left hand to toy with the silver wedding band and frowned when he felt nothing. He’d forgotten about its absence and missed twisting it around his finger as it had become a mannerism born from boredom. Something simple and tangible to do in the dark to remind himself that he was still alive. 

Sometimes he thought he was dead and resided in purgatory. 

Very few people visited him, the wives did once early on, clopping down the corridor in twos, all six of them. They tapped on his door but did not open it, he imagined they could have opened it if they had only tried. They had whispered that they had missed him but it was only sweet lies. They hadn’t missed him, they only missed what he had done for them. He assumed without his presence Negan would slake his lust elsewhere and the wives would have to endure his attention again. 

He felt bad, but the anger was still coursing through his veins and he yelled at them. Called them out on their false sincerity and cowardice. He had resented them in that moment, as they schemed behind Negan’s back rejecting the man they had vowed themselves to while he hungered for a taste of his lips and starved for a touch of his skin. 

He’d snapped like a rabid dog and the wives had scarpered, all but one. Megan had remained due to some perceived friendship, they were neighbours, nothing more and he told her as much. He couldn’t be friends with spineless dogs who would take and take and give nothing in return. She was not mad only disappointed. Ominously she had whispered; ‘There is always something worse.’ Before departing, never to return. 

_Did I disappoint you or let you down?_

He threw his head back again and his vision momentarily blurred. 

Negan visited less than he would have liked him to and more than he was comfortable with. He’d announce his arrival with five knocks, a pause and then followed by two more. He would never open the door and Rick still wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. Was it symbolic of a barrier between them that was his own creation? Or maybe his mind had conjured Negan and it wasn’t real like the sound of a ringing telephone in the middle of the night. 

Their first conversation after the fight had been wrought with accusation and anger. Old hurts mixed with new had been balled together and spewed venomously only to be answered and spun and tossed back as food for thought. 

_‘You killed Glenn.’_ A harrowing truth. The enormity of it hadn’t truly registered and he wasn’t sure how he would cope with the shock of it when it eventually did. 

_‘Daryl killed Glenn.’_ Negan had replied smoothly and he hadn’t listened. Yet at night when he replayed their conversation in his head his mind was torn and he found that Negan’s answer had some validity. Negan had forgiven Glenn’s emotional outburst and warned that a second one would not go unpunished. Why had Daryl done it? He had shouted at Negan but he held his position, why couldn’t his brother do the same? 

_‘We had a deal.’_ He had tried again. 

_‘We did.’_ Negan had conceded. _‘But then you weren’t King Shit anymore and my deal was with Daryl. How little they must think of you, Rick, to betray your trust after everything you’ve done for them. They put you in jeopardy, they put Carl in jeopardy and from what I’m hearing they are now putting us all in jeopardy. You and your family, immediate not convoluted are considered collateral damage to them.’_

Rick had shaken his head, pointless, given his location but he couldn’t give voice to an answer. Negan had implied war was coming but Alexandria didn’t have the man or gun power to do such a thing. He’d written it off as lies to sever friendships and poison his mind. Though left to his own thoughts he considered the option that Daryl had found a way out of their predicament in a way he could not. The deal with the Saviour’s was not ideal and certainly not sustainable, he’d meant for it to be temporary while he figured out an alternative but then Negan had taken Carl and he’d been lost. His plan had gone awry and the deep-seated hatred the Alexandrians had for him was left to unearth itself and fester as they felt betrayed by his deal with the devil. 

Maybe he was over-analyzing Negan’s words. Maybe that was the point. Left alone for hours on end even the melancholic music came second to his fevered thoughts. Negan made sure to leave him enough rope to hang himself with and like a fool he eagerly tied the noose around his neck. 

Negan was not alone on his second visit that came far later than he had anticipated. The music was turned off, the distinctive knocking sounded and then was followed by a child’s melodious laughter. He had already been seated on the floor but he threw himself onto his stomach and watched the two shadows beneath the door. The gap was small but he tried to poke his fingers through and he heard Judith laugh again. 

_’Dada.’_ She had murmured so beautifully and he knew she had recognized him. He’d expected to feel her touch against his fingertips but instead he watched in horror as her shadow approached Negan’s and she called out again, calling Negan ‘Dada’ and rendering his heart in two. Her shadow had then disappeared as Negan lifted her and mumbled silly halfwords and covered her in kisses and showed her affection. 

_‘Why do you betray your family Rick?’_ Negan had asked after several of his questions of Carl’s whereabouts were left unanswered. 

_‘You forced me from them.’_

_‘Those people aren’t your family, Carl and Judith are your family. I’m your fucking family and yet we always come second to that group of strangers. You don’t deserve them. You don’t deserve me.’_

It was a cold and callous thing to say and he left without rebuttal because it was the truth. He’d promised himself time and time again that Carl would come first and at the first opportunity to betray his trust he took it without thought when Carl needed him the most. 

Who were Spencer and Olivia in the great scheme of things, to him? He wouldn’t even consider them family and yet he threw Carl under the bus for them. He always ran away from Carl, leaving him behind, promising over and over that he won’t do it again only to immediately do it again. 

Carl hadn’t come to visit him and he did not know why. Negan was a master wordsmith despite his riddles flavoured with profanity and he could have told Carl anything, maybe even the truth. How many times can you betray a person’s trust before they lose faith in you? The Alexandrians had lost faith in him, enough to endanger his entire family and for what? Revenge? Two more people were dead and another taken, revenge had a price, they couldn’t afford to act on emotions. 

The third visit was the last visit and Negan picked up where he had left off. 

_‘You missed Judith taking her first steps.’_

_’Judith could already walk.’_ He had responded, deadpan but the truth was he hadn’t been there when Judith had taken her first steps. There was always something and his children were always second. 

_‘I missed Judith’s first steps then.’_ Negan had amended an octave lower, crestfallen.

He’d said nothing further and instead chose to toy with the CD player. He’d expected to hear the piano and the man’s sorrowful warbling voice as Negan walked away but instead he heard a woman crying ‘Unbreak My Heart’ while Negan remained outside his door. He’d sat in confusion staring at the closed door listening to the sad song which was followed by another. 

‘How Am I Supposed to Live Without You.’ Followed by, ‘If I Could Turn Back Time.’ Followed by ‘Listen to Your Heart,’ followed by ‘Ain’t No Sunshine.’ He’d put a stop to it then, knowing Negan was trying to talk to him through the lyrics. He had pounded on the door and begged for the goodbye song to be played and for him to be left alone. 

The music had stopped but Negan did not leave nor play his request. There was a disquiet between them and the atmosphere was electric even with a door separating them. Negan had revealed himself- his heart- in those song choices, they weren’t random. He mourned their relationship…he…thought he loved him…no…it was lies, he didn’t even know him. 

The longer he lingered the more uncomfortable Rick felt and he had pressed his ear to the door to hear what the other man was up to. He heard Negan’s hitches of breath and assumed that the older man was crying. It wasn’t until he heard him moan that he realised he was pleasuring himself and he drew back, disgusted. Only too soon he was drawn back, pressing his flushed body against the cold steel door listening intently. His cock swelled between his thighs but he refused to touch it and reward his body for its unwanted reaction. 

When Negan had finished, he was gifted with a knowing dark rich laugh followed by words that still plague his thoughts. _‘You still wear my ring.’_

He hadn’t thought about it, though he toyed with it regularly to direct his desperation for touch away from his cock. Removing it had hurt only because it was the last thing he had been left with but he pushed it beneath the door, whispered _‘Goodbye my lover,’_ and sat back down in his corner. 

The ring was taken. His song was played and Negan had not returned. 

_I'd be the father of your child.  
I'd spend a lifetime with you._

He groaned. That part of the song always stood out, Negan was talking to him through this song as well. 

_‘Daryl killed Glenn.’_

_‘I love you, they don’t.’_

Constantly it repeated inside his head forcing him to listen. Forcing him to acknowledge the unpopular truth. Turning him on his own kin but they weren’t his kin. If they were he would have abandoned them a long time ago because that’s what he did. 

The song stops mid-chorus and he lifts his head as the door comes open. He holds his hand up to block the florescent light that blinds him and clothing is thrown at him. He gags at the stench of stale sweat and decaying flesh that clings to the worn beige sweat shirt with a spray painted ‘F’ on the front and back. 

“Get dressed.” Dwight hisses and turns, both blocking the painful light and giving him a little privacy. He hasn’t been out once and he staggers to his feet and pulls on the horrendous smelling clothing. It was that or nudity and his self-esteem had already been knocked by Laurel and Hardy. There aren’t any shoes, just a sweat shirt and sweat pants that hang off his starved body. 

“Come on,” Dwight insists, after hearing his movements cease and reaches into his room, grabbing a fistful of excess material at the shoulder and pulling him from the room. He’s too tired and weak to mount an offense so he goes along half stumbling, half dragged down the corridor. They turn twice but keep in a general direction until they walk through the bottom door out into the workplace floor. 

The place is crowded, and someone passes by him, beer in hand and catches a whiff of his clothes and pulls a face before giving him a wide berth. There’s no music but the chatter of the gathered sounds like a steady beat as he dragged towards the centre of the room. The ping pong table has been moved to the centre of the room, and he vaguely wonders if it has been cleaned since Negan had lifted him onto it. 

He shakes his head, considers his thought a bad one and leaves it alone while Dwight pushes him down on an overturned cable wheel. There’s an elderly couple occupying the same cable wheel who turn towards him, pull a face and promptly move away. He assumes it’s the smell but who knows what has been said about him? Dwight pushes at his shoulder so he moves aside and allows Dwight to take a seat on his left.

The crowd begin to cheer and though he tries to stand, Dwight pulls him down by the sweater and he looks to his right to the other end of the table where the crowd part and Carl walks out. He looks good, he looks healthy…he looks happy. He hasn’t seen Carl look so care-free for a long time but as he turns showboating for the crowd he can see a group of young girls staring at him with admiration and he thinks he understands why. 

The crowd to the left of him erupt and Negan walks out, leather jacket in place but Lucille is gone, replaced by Judith. Only Negan could exchange a barbed wired baseball bat for a child and look more threatening for it. Negan raises his right hand in celebration, his left protectively holding Judith and he laughs happily when Judith raises her little chubby arms and his world narrows as he only has eyes for Judith like a smitten father. 

Negan then passes Judith to Megan who stands just off north of his position and the wives converge like a swarm cooing over the child. He does a double take as he spots Eugene in the crowd beside the wives deliberately ignoring him with a jar of pickles stuffed beneath one arm as his eyes are trained on the table. 

Negan and Carl exchange some playful threatening hand gestures, neither one paying him any attention as they are wrapped up in their game. Threats done, they take up their positions behind the table and lift the paddles and begin to play, with Negan serving. 

Carl has come on leaps and bounds since the last time he saw him play and it makes him sick. Sick with himself. He should have been the one to teach Carl and make him better, he should have been there for Judith’s first steps but now he had exposed them both to Negan and Carl was all but lost and Judith knew no better. 

He lurches forward, reacting to a barely conceived thought and pauses as Dwight presses the tip of a blade along the small of his back where the sweater rode up. He sits back but the knife continues to trace intricate patterns along his skin, grounding him.

Instead he watches the game, a contest of wills as they hit harder and faster and the crowd is torn, cheering both sides as a compromise. The beer, he notices, is flowing freely, the stack of crates all but gone and the gathered crowd seem to have a pleasant buzz from the alcohol. They’ve been celebrating and he doubts it was pre-game celebrations.

He’s awakened from his thoughts by an equal measure of groans and applause as Negan raises his arms in victory. He had cheated, realising Carl was focusing on his hands and guessing where the ball would land, Negan had started moving his hands wildly and Carl had lost focus. Carl flips him off in reply to his loss and turns, immediately surrounded by five pretty girls passing him a beer and comforting him for his loss.

“He killed Fat Joey,” Dwight whispers in his ear and he turns to look at him incredulously, the knife still pressed against his back. “He’s not your son, not no more. Negan announced it today, Carl is his heir, with or without you. Look at him,” he turns and watches Carl drink from the bottle, his arm slung casually around a brunette’s shoulder as the others circle him. “Look like anyone you know?” 

Rick turns to look at Negan and there he stands, circled by his wives, one arm casually thrown around Sherry’s shoulder as he takes a drink. Carl had refrained from drinking in respect to him, something Negan was desperate to undermine, and with him gone Negan had full reign over his son. 

He looks to Carl again, who is laughing happily and the girls giggle and blush vying for his attention. He stands tall among them, a God among mortals and they revere him as such. Carl was in his element, regardless of hormones he was protective and loving and these girls were fragile and looking to be saved. They would be his wives, he realises. 

“Time’s up.” Dwight snaps and pulls him up. Carl doesn’t pay him any attention but he can feel a heated gaze on his back and knows instinctively that Negan is watching him. He doesn’t fight his return, he longs for the darkness and his song, it’s a headspace he is comfortable with not unlike the one he had fallen into before. It was too easily done falling into a submissive headspace with the repetitive days but he couldn’t allow himself to succumb to it again. He’d lost too much the first time. 

The door to his room stands open and he enters and sits down, back against the wall as Dwight looks at him before closing and locking the door. He hears the familiar noise of the piano and releases the breath he was holding and leans back against the wall feeling the knife tucked in the back of his sweatpants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs mentioned in this chapter, so you can give 'em a listen or not;  
> Unbreak My Heart- Toni Braxton  
> How Am I Supposed To Live Without You- Michael Bolton  
> If I Could Turn Back Time- Cher  
> Listen To Your Heart- Roxette   
> Ain't No Sunshine- Bill Withers


	16. Redirect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Judging from the comments last chapter, this story is going to get me lynched. I even got called a bitch, really? For fanfic, really? Mate, you don't know the half of it, I'm Negan. 
> 
> So now seems like a good time to pimp out Excess' hippie cousin twice removed on its mother's side 'All Roads Lead to Terminus.' Or 'Closer' the Daryl/Rick/Negan threesome I couldn't quite fit into this story :D

Rick turned the blade over in his hand, the light spilling through the door glinting off the serrated steel. It was heavy with the weight of his decision and robbed him of a night’s sleep. He knew what he had to do but he did not know how when he was locked in a tiny room while Negan never came to visit and if he did he had yet to open his door. 

The message was clear; _kill Negan._ Passed from one desperate man to another. 

War was coming, there were whispers of it and a general sense of unease. Under Daryl’s rule Alexandria would fight until the last man and it would be a blood bath. He’d inadvertently orchestrated this and he alone had to end it. If Negan fell, his world order fell as well and his people would rise up in revolt against his unjust regime. 

They could rebuild from the ashes of his empire though he was not naïve enough to believe he would be a part of the resurrection. There was always a cost and he had skirted death one time too many and a debt was owed. If he successfully killed Negan, then he would die as a knee-jerk reaction by one of his followers and if he were to fail in the attempt he would have to take his own life as consequence. He could not afford to be taken alive, Negan would not take his life, he had proven that but as Megan had warned there were worse things than death. 

All is quiet. There was a brief power outage at night that cut off the song mid-chorus and no one had been down his corridor since to realise his eardrums were no longer being assaulted by mournful wails. It should have been a time of peace but his thoughts had been plagued as he considered the enormity of his decision. It could be a test, the thought had crossed his mind, but then he would remember the look on Dwight’s face and saw the sorrow and scorn. Sherry was probably his wife, and giving him the knife was a knee-jerk reaction to seeing Negan all over her. 

It was very telling too, Dwight gave him the knife, Dwight would not do the deed himself, because Dwight had a wife, he had hope, which meant the task was hopeless. Meaning he believed he had nothing to lose and he was mistaken, as long as his heart was still beating he had everything to lose which was why the decision was so difficult. 

Yet, here he remained, locked in a room alone in the dark. Had Dwight had a change of heart? He remembered the look in Dwight’s eyes, one almost permanently shut due to the scarring. His gaze had been steadfast and heavy, intent clear, a man could only be pushed so far and he had been teetering on the edge perhaps for a long time. 

He tries to quiet his thoughts as he hears the leather soles of boots slap against the concrete. Two pairs. He stands, clutching the blade in his right hand, his palms sweating as he prepares to strike at Laurel and Hardy. Their movements are slow, languid as opposed to Laurel and Hardy’s purposeful strides and he finds himself pressing an ear against the door. 

“You are a fucking genius, Doctor Smartypants. They look fucking badass, fuck me, they’ll take one look at those scary fucks and shit themselves. We’ll call it Brown Town, just behind pee-pee pants city…lighten the fuck up and laugh a little.” It’s Negan, his voice is distinctive along with his vocabulary. His words are followed by forced laughter that sounded more like a painful yelp that sounded strangely familiar. “Don’t be scared of me, aren’t we best buds now? Hey, turn that frown upside down, mister, you want to spend the evening with some of my wives? Ooh you devil, they cannot get enough of you, you mulleted stud.” 

“Considering our new-found relationship which is based on mutual trust and understanding in a leader/follower capacity I would be remiss if I did not inform you of matters pertaining to your immediate safety.” Eugene speaks clearly without wavering. 

“Go on,” Negan encourages, voice low and cold, no longer jovial. 

“Your wives, using their feminine wiles attempted to seduce and deceive me into concocting a pill and though I am by no means a psychic I do believe their intent was an obvious one. To see you from this earth, Sir.” Rick’s jaw drops at Eugene’s confession and he slams his left forearm against the steel door before biting his lip to stifle the whimper of pain that threatened to spill from his mouth as his shoulder burned in protest. 

“Erm…what was that?” Eugene asked timidly, new-found confidence easily knocked. 

“Nothing to worry about, I told you, you don’t have to be scared anymore, that was just a big ol’ insignificant rat. Aww did its music stop playing?” Negan’s voice becomes louder as he approaches the door and then slams his own hand against it in retaliation to his outburst. “Goodbye my lover.” His whispered words are heavy with sarcasm as he returns his insult. 

_Did I disappoint you, or let you down?_

“Now Doctor Smartypants, tell me exactly what my lovely wives told you to do.” He slams his forearm against the door again in warning as pain blossoms from his shoulder and ventures down his arm making his fingers curl. 

He tries to listen out for them but the music is too loud and he assumes they left to talk more privately and he is sickened. He felt no love for the wives, as he found them selfish and fickle but he understood desperation. On the surface, it seemed like the wives had it easiest of all and he too found himself judging them on that, but then he had remembered the way they curled up, shrinking in fear by Negan’s presence. Something had instilled that terror and it was wrong of him to judge them, as on the surface, it appeared as though he had been there voluntarily too. 

He despised Eugene for his cowardice, though he was not surprised. Eugene had embraced his cowardice from the beginning, his self-awareness and survival instinct often overrode his morality. His association with Negan would only counteract the glimmers of selflessness he had shown. 

Eugene wasn’t the problem, Negan was. Negan understood people, he knew what made them tick and he used that to further his own agenda. Eugene sought safety and respect, Negan gave him that, while for him Carl was his world, he only wished he had said it more. He wasn’t incapable of feelings he just never knew how to express them which is what drove the wedge between himself and Lori. Negan was as expressive as he was cold, a fearless leader who could cry over the death of a child and moments later cripple someone with a baseball bat. 

His self-awareness was enviable but his utter lack of remorse was problematic. He had the potential to do great things but he lacked the morality to take the high road and had built his empire on the backs of others. He could encourage people and nurture their growth but instead he chose to make good people answer the call of their base selfish human traits making good people bad and bad people worse. 

Negan was a cancer and that cancer had to be eradicated. 

Rick moved away from the door and sat back down. The ball was in Dwight’s court, he was fully prepared to be the bullet but Dwight would have to pull the trigger. 

 

He tries to keep track of time by counting each repetitive track going by the assumption that the song lasted four minutes. He’d lost track after the thirty-seventh time, as each play bled into the next that he could hardly tell when the song ended and began. 

He assumes he won’t be fed today, not that he minds, his stomach is in knots and he wasn’t sure he would be able to keep it down. He vaguely wonders how people on Death Row are able to eat their very last meal knowing what the day would bring. Truthfully, he did not want to die, it was selfish he knew, far better people than him had died, men, women, children, he was lucky he had survived so long. Living in this world, time was as much your friend as it was your enemy because it had been snatched from the hands of Death and they were all living on borrowed time. 

He’s snapped from his thoughts as he hears the door being unlocked and then it opens a fraction before he hears the loud thuds becoming quieter as the perpetrator ran away. He leans forward, on all fours, knife still grasped firmly in his right hand as he looks through the gap. The song continues to play but otherwise all is quiet and he dares to part the door further and sticks the blade out, looking into the reflective steel and thankfully sees no one. 

He wasn’t sure he had the strength to fight off others, he had just enough left to end the war he had stupidly started. He climbs to his feet and slips out the door and closes it behind him, leaving the song to repeat so as to not raise the alarm. He has one chance, every move had to be calculated. 

His plan was a simple one, make it to Negan’s room undetected. He had memorized the route, a long straight, two right turns up four flights of stairs two left turns and straight to Negan’s room. He keeps to the walls and approaches each corner with caution, if he is patient and bides his time, he knows he can make it. Negan had brought him down as naked as a new born and no one had witnessed it, so he assumes Dwight would have released him knowing the coast was clear. 

The first right all is clear, as is the next right. He counts his blessings but stays cautious as he passes through the door towards the stairs and listens. All is quiet and he takes the stairs in twos, the steps incredibly clean and even beneath his bare feet. He freezes on the third flight and lowers himself until he is practically laying against the steps as he hears a door some floors above him. Footsteps are heard next, heavy, stomping but becoming distant not closer. One flight, maybe two and the footsteps stop and another door swings open and shut. He stays in position a moment longer than necessary before breathing a sigh of relief and righting himself before running up the last flight and stepping out through the door. 

This floor he considered the inner sanctum, Negan’s private playpen and considering it was where he kept his worldly possessions it was poorly guarded. In fact, it wasn’t guarded at all. The sheer arrogance of the man was astounding but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He also wasn’t prepared to blow his only opportunity by becoming overconfident, so he kept to the walls, stayed vigilant and approached Negan’s door. 

It was too easy, suspiciously so but the Saviours were pompous with delusions of invincibility that the thought of an inside attack hadn’t crossed their minds. It was their short-sightedness that gave him the opportunity and the first glimmer of hope that he might be able to do the deed and live to tell the tale. 

He places his hand on the door handle and presses down and the door comes open. Negan wasn’t one to lock the door even when they were lost in each other, necking on the couch or rutting against the dresser or making love on the bed. He shakes his head; those thoughts were better best forgotten even though his body ached for him and his heart felt heavy. Perhaps he could steal a kiss, just one, before the blade kissed his skin and robbed him of life. 

He steps inside the room and finds it empty. He’d lie in wait then. He shuts the door, and tries to ignore the bed when he notices the door to the child’s room is ajar, it could be nothing or it could mean something. He circles the bed, eyes on the door, knife still in hand and pokes his head into the room. 

His heart stills in his chest. Negan was there, sat in a recliner, a new addition to the room placed beside the cot. The back was fully reclined into a horizontal position and there Negan lay in a white T-shirt and jeans, his boots were off but he kept his socks on and laying on his chest was Judith sound asleep, steadily rising and falling with each breath Negan took. 

The knife shakes in his hand. His chest would soon be still, his heart would stop and Judith would be safe, taken from a monster though he fears she’ll just come under the care of another one. An even worse monster, the one responsible for her true father’s death. 

His mind is torn, he felt remorse for killing Shane, a part of him died with Shane that night. Negan doesn’t feel remorse and that made him dangerous. He knows it is true but still his hand trembles. Negan is a cancer but, then isn’t he? Now wasn’t the time to become introspective, everything he had done was for his family…though Negan hadn’t used the word family, he had done similar. In fact, Negan had welcomed every waif and stray with open arms, far more obliging than he had ever been, which begs the question who the real monster was. 

Regardless, war was coming, countless lives would be lost. He had to do it. He had to. Just like he had to murder those men in their beds, because the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. He was no saint, his actions in the satellite tower were morally bankrupt but this right now, this was his redemption.

Thankfully his hand stops shaking and his grip on the knife is firm as he pushes the door open further. He evens his breathing and quiets his mind and steps foot into the room only to have his right wrist caught and yanked back. 

He turns quickly, breaking the assailant’s grip and draws back the knife to plunge it deep within the person’s chest only to stop inches from penetration as he finds Carl stood before him, eye still uncovered but wearing his old hat. Carl doesn’t appear frightened only perturbed by his presence in the room. 

“Dad, what are you doing?” 

“I’m putting an end to this,” he answers simply and looks into the room once more. Negan is still asleep and he sees that his left forearm is bandaged from wrist to elbow. 

“Don’t.” Comes Carl’s timid response and he turns to look at him in a mixture of horror and understanding. 

“It’s okay, I get it. Negan, he gets in your head, makes you think you want things but it isn’t real. It’s just him and his sick mind games.” 

“No, you don’t understand.” 

“Carl, please, let me do this and we can all go home.” He turns again but Carl grabs his wrist once more. 

“You do this and there won’t be a home to go to.” That gives him pause and he turns slowly and arches an inquisitive brow. “What do you know about redirect?” He shrugs in response, he’d heard it mentioned often enough but the inner workings were never discussed with him. 

Carl beckons him away from the room, and pulls the door partially closed and then he ushers him over towards the leather couch while he collects the ledger from the bed that wasn’t there when he had entered. Carl chooses to sit next to him, as opposed to across from him and the simple touch of his leg bumping his own fills his heart with joy.

“Redirect is a tribute, a payment. Twenty percentage of everything they earn…steal,” he amends in a hushed whisper. “It goes somewhere else, to a group, as an insurance policy. I don’t know much about them only that they direct herds of walkers and if Negan should die the Sanctuary will fall along with Hilltop, Alexandria and someplace called the Kingdom.”

“It’s just lies to protect himself.” He answers back in a whisper. 

“I thought that too, until they put me in charge of the operation. Why do you think Negan was so worked up when I told him it hadn’t been delivered? I hadn’t known what it had meant at the time, but Negan immediately sent it out, said something cryptic about shit hitting the fan if it hadn’t been delivered. Not delivering is code for trouble and that they should commence.” Rick could remember the outburst, Negan had been furious before Mark’s name was even mentioned and at the time he thought his response was out of proportion. He didn’t want to believe it, but he did, because it was Negan with his God complex. 

“Does Dwight know about this?” He mindlessly asks. 

“Is he the one that let you out?” Carl counters and for one horrible moment he stares at a Saviour not his son. 

“You knew I was locked up?” His tone is accusatory and his expression is one of disgust. 

“No, Negan gave me so much work and said it was too dangerous for me to go out on pick-ups. I didn’t know anything was wrong, he never said anything. But then he officially announced me as his heir yesterday and his wives were there but you weren’t. I kept asking but he wouldn’t give me a straight answer, just told me you weren’t dead. I told him that I would kill him if anything happened to you, I told him he wasn’t my father, you are. He said you needed to cool off, and I tried to find you, I did.” His voice breaks and Rick pulls him into his arms. He knows he smells awful but Carl doesn’t mind and he rubs his back as his tears subside. 

“I’m sorry.” For so many things, he’s not sure he has the time to name every single offence. 

“No, I’m sorry.” Carl counters and sits back, breaking the hug. “You were right before, surrendering to the Saviours. I thought you were weak but it was the bravest thing you ever did and I hated you for it. I couldn’t understand how you could let a man like Negan control you like that, I couldn’t see the sacrifice you were making for all of us and in return we pissed on you. This war won’t be won by bloodshed, you saw that when no one else did and I have faith in you. I know you will come up with a solution, you always do and I respect the shit out of you.” He should be ashamed of the tears welling in his eyes but he’s not, though he is worried by his son’s turn of phrases sounding suspiciously like Negan’s. 

“Carl, tell me truthfully, what do you think about Negan?” Carl lowers his head, shying from the question. 

“I…like him, I guess. I mean I hate him, but I like him if that makes sense. I hate what he did, but I get why he did it, but I still hate him for it.” He pauses to look at the partially closed bedroom door. “He gets me, and he just accepts me and I like the way he tries to be my father. He’s not like Shane, he’s not trying to replace you, he doesn’t want to tear our family apart he wants to build us back up to what we once were.” He pauses again, trying to find the right words. “I knew…about Judith…she has Shane’s eyes.” Rick nods, it’s an unfortunate truth. “But Negan, he loves her, he loves me and he loves you too and I think you love him.” 

Rick baulks at that. There is a knife in his hand, he was going to end the man’s life. “Why do you say that?” 

“You just…I don’t know…shine when he’s around. Like you want to see him, and he does it too. I’ve only seen you like that once before with Jessie that’s why…that’s why I didn’t say anything when you burst in here all over each other because you looked happy. It’s not an ideal situation but we have to make the most of it.” Rick almost does a double take, when had his boy become so wise? 

“He killed Spencer and Olivia.”

“You weren’t there, Dad, you didn’t hear what Spencer said about you, if Negan hadn’t have killed him I would have. Olivia shouldn’t have died, but Rosita shouldn’t have shot at Negan, she almost got us all killed. Negan reacted from shock, demanded retribution and Olivia paid the price. You would have done the same thing.” No, he would have done something much worse. 

“Do you want to stay here?” 

“Yes and no. I miss our family, I miss Daryl and Enid but if I went back I’d miss my friends here.” 

“Your girlfriends?” He teases. 

“Ugh you’re just like him,” Carl sighs exasperated. “Girlfriend, Brooke, and some female friends. They don’t look at me like I’m a freak of nature, or some victim that needs to be saved. I can just be Carl.” He lowers his head, as though he was ashamed of his confession or feared he would be ashamed of him for his confession. “We can’t keep going on like this, it isn’t fair, I know that. I’ve lessened the size of the tributes but it isn’t enough, I want to bring in fair trade. The Sanctuary doesn’t have to fall, there are good honest working people here, they don’t deserve to die. I could make this work, Dad, for me, for you and Judith and Alexandria. War is coming but if Negan dies we all die.”

“What do you want me to do?” He asks with pride, Carl will forever be his little boy but today he proved that he was a man and one of integrity.

“Don’t kill him, hate him if you have to, I know I do but try to make him understand. He’ll listen to you.” He isn’t sure that is entirely true. 

He stands up, it was dangerous for him to be found in the room and though he wanted to leave he didn’t want to leave Carl. He pulls him into his arms once more when Carl stands and presses a kiss against his temple before pressing his nose there and breathes in deeply. Despite the passing of years with Carl in his arms he still gets the faint whiff of a newborn baby. 

“Did you kill a guy named Joey?” He doesn’t know why he asks, possibly trying to derive fact from fiction. 

Carl releases him but does not look remorseful. “Yeah, I did,” he answers matter-of-factly. “Because he had this,” he reaches behind him and pulls something tucked down the back of his jeans and then holds out his Colt Python. “I asked for it back and he said no and then he started saying things about you and I lost it. I had Lucille in my hand and I hit him and I kept on hitting him. I’m not sorry, he deserved it.” Rick nods, remembering a similar incident he had with Pete Anderson. 

Negligently he tosses the knife onto the bed and takes his Colt from Carl and stuffs it down the back of his sweatpants. “I have to go.” 

“I’ll get you out, I promise, we’ll make this work.” He simply nods, goodbye is too hard to say and he walks over to the door and spies the video camera on the nightstand. He doesn’t know what possesses him to pick it up and stuff it under his sweatshirt but he does and leaves the room without a backward glance. 

He encounters no one on his return and the song is still playing to his empty room. He turns the music off and goes inside the room, shutting himself inside as he sits down. He brings the camera out and opens it up turning it on and scans through the memory. There are no interviews left, even his own has been deleted along with the first teasing recording Negan did in the streets of Alexandria. 

The oldest video is of their first kiss, but the masturbation and fingering that followed had been erased along with the message from Carl. The next video is of their wedding, followed by stills of himself, Negan and Carl but the ones with the wives had been erased as he had seen them being taken. The next video is their wedding night with a run time of three hours and six minutes which seemed odd. If Negan had run out of memory, which it appeared he had, why keep such a long video? He means to find out but he continues to look down the menu. 

He doesn’t appear on anymore thumbnails, there are videos of Carl and Judith and Carl with Judith and numerous selfie stills of the three of them together smiling widely down the lens. He presses play on the last video and watches the still image of Judith come to life as she stands and staggers towards the camera. 

_”That’s right, come to Daddy, show him what he is missing out on.”_ His chest feels tight as he realises Negan was trying to record what he believed at the time were Judith’s first steps so he wouldn’t miss a moment. 

Negan cheers when Judith makes it to him and his enthusiasm rubs off on her as Judith screeches happily and raises both arms in celebration while Negan gives her a high five. 

He clicks a video of Carl; his back is to the camera and he is walking hand in hand with a brunette heading towards a sofa in a communal room he had yet to come across. 

_“And here we see the young male lure the female from the flock.”_ Negan’s voice cuts through the feed in what he presumes is a poor impersonation of David Attenborough. _“Helpless and alone, the young stud pulls out his charm offensive and there! He flicks his hair and the female’s knees are weakened.”_ Carl turns, and narrows his eye before continuing his journey towards the sofa. _“The male slowly leads the hapless female to his den of filth, and she goes! Another victim of the notorious panty-dropper, she didn’t stand a chance.”_

The girl who is assumes is Brooke is blushing furiously while Carl flips off the camera much to Negan’s amusement. _“I’m sorry about my dad,”_ Carl apologizes and he rewinds. 

_“I’m sorry about my dad.”_ He hits rewind again. 

_“…about my dad.”_ Rewind.

_“…dad.”_ Rewind.

_“…my dad.”_

He turns the camera off and gently places it on the floor beside him. His head ached terribly and he pressed against his forehead above his right eye to relieve the pressure. He didn’t know what to do, or what to think anymore. 

He picks up the camera again, turns it on and scrolls through the menu before selecting the night of their consummation. 


	17. Heart Still Beating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got nothing but love last chapter when I’ve been nothing but evil to you so thank you <3  
> I didn’t mean to alarm anyone, this story has been getting hate since chapter 2, so it will be finished and then I’ll pick up All Roads :)

The camera remained open in his hand, screen blank as the battery had long since died. It made little difference, the footage was ingrained in his memory like a handprint in cement. He had watched each clip intently and was reminded of a better time when Carl was born before the age of digital cameras. He had taken picture after picture, afraid to blink- to miss a moment or to simply forget, taking in six to eight film rolls a time to be printed. All the pictures were very much the same but each one just as important and cherished. Negan had clearly succumbed to the same new-father malady not only towards Judith but to Carl as well, as there were two similar videos of Carl writing in the brown ledger with an unopened bottle of beer beside him on each occasion.

The videos were mundane, a brief look into a life that could be his, should be, without Negan, yet without Negan his family would fall apart again. Carl was wrong, Negan was just like Shane only of a different persuasion. He believed he was an inept father and husband and was unworthy of his family, the only difference between them was Shane’s desire to see him dead while Negan would simply lock him away like a disobedient pet. 

Negan would not see him dead, Negan…wanted him. Carl had claimed that Negan loved him and the man himself had thrown the word around often enough but not enough to convince him. That had changed some hours ago while watching the night of their consummation. He had remembered it, vaguely, he knew the camera had been tossed aside negligently but he could not recall at what moment. It had not been turned off when it had been cast aside and continued to record until the battery was exhausted explaining the three-hour run time.

He understood that it was their first time, but Negan had deleted the proposal for space and it hadn’t exactly been earth moving. So, it was only curiosity that made him watch, at least that’s what he told himself. It was strange watching himself laying on his back voluntarily vulnerable, almost like an out of body experience, watching himself from Negan’s prospective. The camera had been tossed before the penetration and he had to turn the camera in his hand as the footage became sideways as the camera had tumbled. 

He didn’t know how to feel watching himself go from compliance to demanding and then to voicing his own pleasure in part to arouse Negan further. They hadn’t lasted long, he couldn’t knock Negan’s performance as he had cum just as quick and afterwards, for himself at least, it had become awkward. 

He’d watched as they both laid down to sleep, and himself sitting up some minutes later. The camera angle was low to the mattress and only his torso was in frame but he knew he was picking at his scabs. His self-harm lacked subtlety and with a hiss of victorious pain Negan was alerted to his actions and sat up. 

_‘Fuck Rick! I close my eyes for five fucking minutes. Stop this, you wanna fucking leave Carl, is that it? You want me to be a single parent? We’re married now, I’ve the papers to prove it so you leave and Carl is mine, do you understand?’_ He hadn’t noticed the panicked hurt timbre in Negan’s voice as he had been too lost in his own pain at the time. _‘You are mine, that doesn’t mean I’m not yours. Fuck, I sound like a hallmark card, now can we get some fucking sleep, pretty fucking please?’_

It was jarring to hear those words once more. He had remembered them, but to hear them, the way they were said, the intention behind them. If he had only listened he would have never misconstrued Negan’s intention towards Carl. Negan had married him, Negan had lured him into Eugene’s house and yet he could not see it for what it was, chose not to see it because to acknowledge Negan’s feelings for him would be devastating. 

So, he listened to the words again, ignored them again. Watched how Negan held his injured hand between his own, protecting him from himself as they laid down to sleep and then he continued to watch. He never expected to see anything more, so he was surprised when fifteen minutes later Negan sat up and then left the bed, returning with water, a cloth and fresh bandages. Carefully he unwrapped his bloody bandages and diligently cleansed the wounds before wrapping his knuckles once more. 

It didn’t end there, either. Once the bloodied water and bandages were disposed of, Negan returned to the bed, laid on his right side with his elbow on the pillow, right hand holding his head up as he simply stared. It was the expression on his face that made his heart race, as he had seen it before, had worn it himself when he had first looked at Jessie and saw the endless possibilities. If he was to Negan, what Jessie was to him, then he was in trouble. His desire for Jessie had turned toxic, it was too single-minded, too intense, too selfish. He had seen her, saw a life he was not privy to and he wanted it, damn the consequences and the consequences had been brutal. How could anything he and Negan have be anything less than brutal? 

He shakes his head. It’s obsession, poisonous and consuming but it isn’t love, can’t be, he refuses to believe it. Maybe Negan believes it is but it isn’t, it isn’t…

His thoughts grind to a halt as the door swings open and his eyes burn from the florescent light that floods the room, 40 watt bulbs becoming a blinding 160 watts to his light deprived eyes. He covers his eyes with the back of his left hand and the burning sensation in his shoulder is still a nagging pain. He parts his fingers when his eyes adjust to the light and spies Negan stood in the doorway framed by the light like an avenging angel. He scoffs, Negan’s the devil and he’s in hell. 

“I believe you have something of mine,” Negan says, voice extremely loud in his sanctity of silence. He gestures towards the camera in his right hand before pulling a hunting knife from the back of his jeans. “And I have something of yours?” He says it like a question, rather as a matter of fact and turns the blade over in his hands. He recognizes it, he knows…or did Carl tell him? “Time to get up, gorgeous.”

“You’re letting me out?” He asks incredulously. Carl had promised to free him but he hadn’t held out any hope as so frequently it had become his noose. 

“I need the room,” Negan answers and steps aside. He doesn’t trust him but he is unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth and so he climbs to his feet and exits the room on his own volition and stands before Negan, stinking, hungry but alive. 

Negan looks over his shoulder, smirking and he gives in to his curiosity and turns, watching Laurel and Hardy and two other Saviours carry a blond-haired man between them. He’s naked and his pale back is littered with angry red welts while his shoulder-length hair is soaked with sweat and there is congealed blood at the base of his skull. He’s conscious but as this point he’s not entirely sure that is a blessing, and he lifts his head revealing his scarred and bloodied face. His left eye is swollen shut but his right narrows at the sight of him, one Judas eyeing another, before his bruised and battered body is flung inside his cell. He hears the bucket tumble over and grimaces, wishing it was empty but knowing that it wasn’t. 

“You should have killed him.” 

Negan looks at him in surprise. “There’s a lot of people I should have killed.” He says pointedly, eyeing him up and down. “But some people you really shouldn’t fucking kill, should you?” His words are doused in venom and telling. He knows he came to his bedroom to murder him, after all he left the weapon and stole the camera and he can’t bring himself to consider Carl’s involvement, if any. “Follow me.” He’s not guided or pushed, Negan simply turns and stomps off and he falls in line. 

He follows Negan up two flights of stairs, ignoring the way his fingers itch to be on Negan’s skin, in his hair, pushing him down onto his knees. It’s only sex, it means nothing and apparently, he’s nothing to Negan as the man doesn’t even spare him a cursory glance knowing he was following him. He hates that he is but his world has been turned upside down. Every problem he has ever encountered had been resolved by the death of his enemies, as he believed he was always on the side of light but Negan changed that. He was unsure of himself, questioned his past actions that once seemed justified and now sounded like lame excuses. He was self-centered and arrogant and this life he was forced into seemed a lot like karma. 

The path they take seems vaguely familiar but it’s not until he is in Doctor Carson’s office that he realizes why. Doctor Carson turns at their intrusion and his eyes narrow when they spy him, his disappointment evident in the slumping of his shoulders.

“Negan, what can I do for you?” He doesn’t bow before Negan like the others do, a perk or error of judgement he can’t be sure. 

“Fix him up, make sure he’s fed and showered, I’ll have some clothes brought down. He gets to keep his gun.” Carson looks horrified, while he looks startled. Carl had told Negan, forewarning Negan or protecting him by admitting he was in possession of a weapon, he did not know. 

“Shower first!” Carson snaps when Negan leaves the room. He goes through the door as directed and finds there is no lock to the small bathroom. He takes his gun out and leaves it on the sink before taking off his sweatshirt and trousers and kicks them as far away as possible as he opens the door to the shower. There’s a bar of soap, a washcloth and shampoo but the water is cold. He doesn’t care, he feels disgusting and having the water wash away the dirt and grime is like shedding a skin. He allows the water into his mouth, swallowing some and using the rest to wash his mouth out before running the soap along his body. 

There’s a knock on the door midway through. “Clothes are here, put these on first.” Carson’s voice comes from behind the door and then it opens a fraction and a hand drops a pair of white boxer shorts onto the toilet seat, before retreating and the door closes. He’s to be examined then, he rubs the bar of soap harder against his body and scrubs at his skin until it is pink and washes his hair twice. 

There’s a towel on the hook. He turns off the water and quickly dries himself off and scrubs at his hair before pulling on the boxer shorts thanking a God he no longer believes in for them not being form fitting briefs. Carson is waiting for him, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently as he exits the bathroom. He has never liked him and he seems to be trying his best to show his displeasure. 

“Hurry then, I don’t have all day to wait on you.” He could argue, kick up a fuss, cause a ruckus but he’s so tired that he walks over to the chair willingly and sits down, back straight. His face has healed, his knuckles as well, he is only malnourished and his left shoulder aches. “You look gaunt, nothing that some rest and food can’t cure. Any aches and pains?” 

“My shoulder,” he references his left with his right hand and Carson sighs put upon but eventually does his job. 

“Hmm seems you have separated your shoulder. No cause for alarm, there isn’t a lump and you haven’t dislocated it. I haven’t got an X-ray but I’m of the opinion that you’ve torn the ligaments that attach to the underside of your clavicle. Lift your arm for me.” He slowly lifts his left arm and hisses in pain when his elbow is raised higher than his shoulder. “I see, lower your arm.” He does. “You’ve destabilized the acromioclavicular joint. I’ll prescribe you some antibiotics for the pain, some rest and you should be as good as new with no further problems though at your age you should be more considerate of your body, and perhaps of the others here who could use the medication.” 

“Medication you stole.” 

“So that gives you the right to use it all?” Carson argues back. 

“What is your problem?”

“You! You’re my problem. You and your merry band of brutes are going to get my brother killed, and countless others. I curse the day Paul brought you to the Hilltop, you’ve been nothing but trouble, you’re a band of murderers and thieves.” 

“That’s the Saviours…”

“No Rick, it’s you and your brethren. You murdered men while they slept, at least Negan had the decency to murder your own in front of you and gave you good reason as to why he did it. Fifty-three men, that’s how many you and yours murdered in cold blood. Fifty-three and yet you cry over two as if those lives mattered more, and now your people march to war over what? Why must more people die? Why must your life matter more than mine?”

“I never started the war.” 

“Yes you did, by involving yourself in matters that didn’t concern you. A shame I cannot cure your God complex.” Before all of this, he would have beaten Carson to death, he wants to, the blood lust is still there beneath the surface, but now is not the time for violence. Violence is not the answer. That has always been his folly, eliminating the threat rather than getting to the root of the problem. It was why history continued to repeat itself. It was the harder option, self-reflection, and harder still to empathise with the enemy. 

“Your clothes are over there,” Carson snaps and points to the folded clothes by the door. “You can go to the market and get your own food. Get dressed in the bathroom.” His hands clench into fists but he quells his rage and climbs from the chair and collects the clothing and alligator leather boots and enters the bathroom once more. 

The clothing is actually his, blue faded denims with a navy button down shirt and his gun belt. The socks may or may not be his, he can’t be sure but the boots were, he was keeping them as a spare pair in the bottom of his wardrobe. He dresses quickly, and holsters his gun and exits the bathroom. There’s a pill and a plastic cup of water left for him but Carson is gone. He takes the pill with a drink of water and leaves the room. 

He hasn’t been to the market before and he is directed to the other side of the building by a man mopping the floor. He wasn’t sure what to expect but he was awed by what he found, people, from all different walks of lives selling their trades. Barbers, bakers, seamstresses and cobblers were only some he had passed before he came to the soup table. 

“New here, are you?” An elderly woman asked, peeking behind a large boiling cooper pot. 

“Er…yes?”

“You look lost. I don’t suppose you’ve earned any points being new and all but you do look famished. Tell you what, just this once, I’ll fix you a bowl of stew and some bread and in return you can keep me company.” He simply nods, surprised by her easy acceptance of him and takes the wooden bowl of stew that is passed by her shaking liver-spotted hands. “Come ‘round here, have a seat, I’ll get you some bread.” He walks around the picnic bench she is using as a table covered in a red and white cloth and takes a seat as directed. “It is good to see new faces,” the woman adds, tearing a piece of bread from a loaf and settling down beside his bowl. She wipes her hands on her apron and then curls grey hair behind her left ear that had escaped from her ponytail. “For a while there, well, I thought there was no one left and it was terrible but here you are. Have you given a thought as to what job you would like to do?” He opens his mouth to question her but she waves her hand dismissively. “Look at you, you’ll join the Saviours, it has its perks but don’t let it change you. They do an awful lot for us and they sure know it and like to rub it in our faces. We do appreciate what they do, though I wish they could be humble.” When the woman becomes quiet looking off in distraction he speaks up. 

“Do you know what the Saviours do?” He tries to ask nonchalantly and dips the bread into the stew. It’s rabbit and the taste explodes on his tongue and he moans in approval. 

The woman smiles at his reaction but there is a twinge of sadness because of his question. “Unfortunately, I do, the good and the bad. My son, you see, Little Timmy, he was a Saviour.” He tries to keep his face neutral as the name sounds familiar and she was speaking in the past tense. “He was a troubled boy but he tried his best, used all his points to set me up and some of his clout to get me the things I needed. They have a bad reputation but they are mostly good people who do bad things for the greater good, it is what the world made us, no one comes away with their hands clean anymore.” Her argument is logical though it pains him to admit, he finishes his stew as he considers her words. 

“I heard a rumour they steal from other settlements.” She regards him with a knowledgeable look in her deep green eyes.

“Yes, unfortunately other settlements are strong-armed into helping us but the Saviours clear the dead for them as a service and they never take too much. I’m sure it’s an inconvenience but it is a necessary evil, we are without fruit and vegetables, we need their aid.” The argument sounded familiar, one he had used himself, justifying his callous actions of killing strangers in their beds. 

A bell rings out in the distance and suddenly there’s a burst of childish giggles as the market is swarmed with children of ages varying from four to eight. “That’ll be the school rush,” she announces and stands painfully from the stool she was perching on. 

“There’s a school?” He asks in awe and looks around once more realising he is standing in Deanna’s vision come true. 

“Pre-school, simple math and English. They are looking to expand in higher education but I’m afraid we’ve come across very few teachers. I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re occupying my granddaughter’s seat.” He gets up as he watches a little girl with dark hair and eyes approach with a piece of paper clutched in her hands. 

“Thank you, I’ll pay you back when I can.” He climbs off the bench and the little girl immediately takes his seat placing her paper onto the table, it’s a drawing. 

“Nonsense, it was nice to have older company.” She says, looking down and running her fingers through the girl’s dark hair. “What have you got there, Annabelle?” Rick smiles tightly and takes his leave. 

“It’s a drawing of you and me and there is mommy and daddy in heaven.” He can’t help but overhear and his heart lurches painfully in his chest, because he made Annabelle an orphan.

He presses his fingers against his forehead above his right eye as his head hurts. He can’t make another child an orphan, he had to stop it. The children’s laughter and the general hubbub rattle inside his head so he leaves the market and takes in deep breaths once he’s outside. 

He can stop the war, he knows he can. Carl was on to something with his fair-trade plan but he could not implement it due to resources. There’s a shovel leaning against the wall and he snatches it and ventures out into the field behind the Sanctuary. There are a few Saviour’s guarding and checking the fences but they do not acknowledge him as he begins to dig beneath the burning sun. 

 

Time escapes him as well as the number of holes he had dug. He starts another ten metres from the chain-link fence a fourth of the way from the Sanctuary on the west side. 

“It’s no good,” a familiar voice calls to him beyond the fence. “Soil’s too dry.”

He shoves the spade into the ground and wipes the sweat from his brow. “There’s an irrigation pit,” he points over his shoulder where the crows circle. 

“Now we both know that pit is dry as a bone and full of walkers.” 

He drops his head, admitting defeat. “Yeah.” 

“Lands poisoned by chemical waste anyway.” He nods, he knew after the first hole but he had to keep trying, keep hoping. 

He lifts his head and smiles thinly. “It’s good to see you.” 

“Likewise,” Hershel replies with a smile of his own beneath his white beard. “You look well.” He looks down, his shirt is soaked with sweat as is his hair. 

“My heart’s still beating,” he replies. “You look good.” He is without his crutches and strangely whole dressed in a shirt with trousers pulled high held in place by brown leather braces. His hair remains long, combed backwards and pulled into a low ponytail. “I’ve missed you.” 

“Don’t treat me like a stranger then, Rick, come over here.” He leaves the shovel protruding from the ground and walks over to the fence. 

“Rick!” Negan shouts from a distance and he turns watching the older man begin to run towards him. 

“That him?” Hershel asks and he nods before realising he never mentioned Negan to him before. 

“Dad!” Carl shouts next, panicked and also running towards him. 

“Is that Carl? He sure has grown, he’s practically the spitting image of you.” Negan and Carl are both shouting him as he approaches the fence. 

“He grew up so fast, I tried to do right by him.”

“You did your best,” Hershel offers with sympathy. “That’s all any of us can do.”

“I’ve messed up.”

“There’s no such thing as a mistake it’s only a life lesson, consider yourself taught. I have to be going now, Rick.” He puts his arm through the wire and holds his hand out for him to shake. He reaches for it, barely touching him with his fingertips before Negan tackles him to the ground and his head aches painfully. 

“Are you bit?” Negan asks panicked, grabbing at his right arm. His sleeves are rolled up but the skin is unmarred. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Negan demands and climbs off him lending a hand that he ignores. 

He turns his head, staring at the fence where a walker now stands where Hershel once stood with its arm trapped in the fence, its skin torn and pulled back, pooling at its elbow exposing the bone as it scratches thin air. Carl approaches and sinks a blade into its skull before gazing at him with a look of horror on his face. 

He can’t stand to see it and so he takes Negan’s hand and allows himself to be pulled up. “You don’t get to opt out, you selfish prick!” His head aches and he sways unsteadily on his feet. “Look at our son, look at him!” He does and sees that he is crying. 

“Please, it’s not…I wasn’t…” he trails off, he can’t find the words. 

“Looked pretty fucking obvious what you were trying to do.” He shakes his head, his vision blurs and the back of his head throbs. 

“No…”

“You said you wouldn’t leave me again, Dad.” 

“I won’t,” he admits, as his stomach roils. 

“We don’t believe you,” Negan snarls in disappointment. 

His head aches terribly. He reaches for the back of his head and when he brings his hand away it is covered in blood. He sways unsteadily and holds his hand out revealing his blood covered hand before he falls. Negan catches him, strokes the curls back from his face and gingerly touches the back of his head. 

“It’s okay baby, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. Carl, grab his legs. Keep your eyes open, Carl’s here, see. Stay awake, stay a-fucking-wake! Don’t you do this to me again, you bastard! You absolute bastard.” He feels himself lifted and his mind begins to drift as he sees the bloody rock on the ground and his eyelids become heavy. “Rick! Rick………please don’t leave me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daryl killed Little Timmy and the Dick Brigade, Rick thinks he was a man at the tower.


	18. Two Out Of Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, this chapter was a nightmare to write and I have lost count how many times it has been rewritten. I've been MIA in this fandom, not gonna lie, the season finale pissed me off, so hopefully I'll get back to reading soon :)

Consciousness felt as if he was immersing himself into a freezing cold lake that was on fire, the pain so intense he wasn’t sure what was hurt, where and how. He opens his eyes and finds his lashes crusted with sleep and wonders how long he was out for. His hand is being held, his left not his right and he turns his head to find Negan laid beside him with a pensive look on his ashen face. 

“Not gonna call me Dad this time? Fuck me, Rick, are we actually making progress?” He reaches for him then, for his forehead, possibly to stroke back his curls but aborts the attempt, curls his hand into a fist and drops it back down onto the mattress. 

“Carl?” He utters a single name but in that name, lies the questions how is he and where is he?

Negan’s teasing smile falters. “He’s with Judith, not gonna lie, he’s a little upset, fuck, I’m a little upset. Mind telling me what the fuck you were doing and why have you dug boltholes in my lawn Brer Rabbit?” He sits up then and Negan uprights the pillow behind his back so he can lean back against the headboard. 

His shirt is gone, jeans and boots as well and his gun belt is over on the coffee table leaving him in the white boxer shorts and socks. “I was testing the soil,” he answers as he recollects the events that led up to the head trauma. The soil was sand really, poisoned and useless and his mind had fractured by being so close to a solution and so very far from it. He had no alternative, he had to dig, to search to succeed but the heat was relentless and the medication was being flushed from his system and then there had been…Hershel…only it wasn’t Hershel. He knew that now, his mind had conjured a friend in his time of need. It hadn’t been real, though he prayed to a God he no longer believed in that it had been. 

“Wow,” Negan states sarcastically and sits up and he’s not entirely sure if he had just spoken his thoughts. “You must think I’m a real fucking asshole.” He can’t answer because he does genuinely think that, what troubles him is that Negan seems surprised. “You think it never occurred to me to farm my own fucking land? That I just chose to rob from others because I fucking could? You think I’m a lazy-ass produce-stealing dumb cunt, is that it?” He blinks in reply and Negan’s eyebrows raise in disbelief. “Wow, well, you married me, so what does that make you?” 

“You know I’d kill you if I could.”

“Not today, not tomorrow,” Negan mocks in a high-pitched voice that sounded nothing like him. “Not at fucking all.” Negan sits back, releasing his hand and pinching the bridge of his nose while expelling air nosily through his mouth. “Sometimes I think you and I are destined to do this forever.” He sounds…disappointed as he reaches towards the table beside him and collects a cup and something small. “Here,” he drops a pill into his hand and he puts it into his mouth without question and takes the offered cup and swallows the antibiotic with a sip of water. 

Negan takes the cup from him when he is finished and climbs off the bed and walks over to the bathroom and pushes the door wide open. He pauses at the door and kicks off his boots and rolls off his socks before pulling his white T-shirt over his head, his ever-present leatherjacket having been discarded on the couch near his gun belt. He loosens his belt and pushes his jeans down his hairy muscular legs, turning so he could see the shape of his ass being hugged firmly by the boxer briefs. He throws a look over his shoulder, coy, curious, before he pushes his briefs down his legs and kicks them away with his jeans. He pauses, back to him allowing him to soak in the sight of his broad shoulders and lean back down to his trim waist and pert buttocks before entering the bathroom. 

He doesn’t close the door and minutes later he can hear the spray of the shower. The invitation is as clear as day and he finds himself kicking the covers off and climbing to his feet. He misjudges his strength and staggers into the dresser where Lucille lies and hears Negan laugh misconstruing his failing health for enthusiasm. He considers aborting his mission in spite but the thought of Negan’s hands on his skin, caressing his touch-starved body motivates him to right himself and enter the bathroom. 

He stands before the closed shower door and pushes his underwear down and rolls off his socks. His cock is half hard, flushed red with interest as Negan opens the shower door for him and he steps inside. He’s grabbed immediately and turned and pushed back allowing the water to graze his back as Negan unwraps the bandage from around his head. Once done, he throws it out of the shower and takes him into his arms slowly guiding him back beneath the spray. The water runs red as the spray hits the back of his head and he winces in discomfort as Negan holds him tightly and runs his fingers through his hair washing away the congealed blood. 

He relaxes in Negan’s arms and basks in the pleasure of being held, pressed flush against a naked body. It was beyond sexual as they shared an intimacy that they hadn’t explored before. The proximity to another person, the heat of the water as it rained down on his shoulders and ran down his back and the simple touch of Negan’s fingers on the back of his neck. He could not deny the spark between them, he never could, he was drawn to Negan like a moth to a flame dying to be with him. 

He lifts his head from where it was resting on Negan’s shoulder and briefly catches the man’s eyes before his gaze is inexplicably drawn to Negan’s firm wet pink lips. Negan laughs in response, snakes his tongue across his lower lip before reaching for his chin and tilting his head up meeting his eyes once again. 

“You wanna kiss me?” So often that phrase was used as a jeer to undermine him, but he finds himself nodding in response. Negan smiles, self-assured and arrogant before inclining his head and presses his lips against his firmly. He’s the first to deepen the kiss, exploring Negan’s mouth with his tongue and tasting ash from a recently smoked cigarette. He becomes drunk from his intoxicating kiss and his kisses become demanding and devouring. He wants and he can have and so he takes. It isn’t passion, it is desperation. It isn’t desire, it is hunger. He starves for him and Negan knows it, had tortured him to make it so and yet faced with his monster, Negan attempts to pull away. He doesn’t let him, his grip on his hip becomes bruising as his fingers tangle in Negan’s raven hair as his kisses become biting. 

“Stop.” Negan utters, escaping his kiss. He presses a taming finger against his lips in recompense. “It doesn’t always have to be rough.” Mentally, he scoffs in response, because this thing between them could be nothing less than rough. He doesn’t care for his words, he only wants his body to make him feel human again, to make him feel alive.

He licks the length of Negan’s index finger before enclosing his lips around the fingertip and taking the digit into his mouth. Negan’s protests die on his tongue as he watches him with heavy-lidded smouldering dark eyes and he simply waits for the filthy vitriol to roll off Negan’s tongue but the shaming does not happen. Instead, he presses his hips harder against him and lets him feel his swelling erection against his hip. 

“Fuck, do you have any idea what you do to me? I can’t get you out of my head. I’d burn the motherfucking world for you.” He probably would and Rick would be singed by the flames. “Fine,” Negan finally snaps. “What do you want?” 

He releases his finger with an audible pop. “What do you think I want?” He challenges, turning the tables on Negan. 

Negan’s eyes rake down his body like a starving man eyeing a feast. He meets his eyes once more and licks his lips. “I know what you want.” His hands land on his shoulders and turn him to face the wall. He braces his hands against the tile, spreads his legs and hangs his head while the water cascades down his back. Negan presses himself against his back pressing his mouth against the back of his neck while his fully erect cock pokes insistently at his tailbone, painting the curve of his posterior with pre-cum before the shower washes it away. 

He doesn’t care for Negan’s teasing kisses, he wants him to take him, wants to feel the burn of the dry penetration. He wants the agony of it to remind him that nothing between them could ever be beautiful. It is scarred and scorched and ugly and that was all it could ever be. It was all he would allow it to be. Yet Negan deprives him once more, presses light kisses across his shoulders and down his back before he lowers himself onto his knees. He hadn’t noticed at first, not until his lips kissed the base of his spine and his large hands parted the globes of his ass leaving him open and exposed. 

A broad swipe of Negan’s tongue over his exposed opening leaves him clawing at the wall. He moves the showerhead aside so the water no longer ran down his back allowing Negan to explore further without hindrance. He shouldn’t like it but he finds he does as Negan licks over his hole twice more before teasing the tight rosebud with the tip of his tongue. He groans loudly in response and drops his hand to the base of his aching cock, squeezing painfully to prevent an early orgasm. 

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Negan warns as a finger presses inside of him. “Relax,” he whispers against one of his cheeks and bites down playfully while pushing a second finger inside of him. “That’s it, fuck yourself on my fingers.” Negan pauses as though he wished to say more but thought better of it. “I need a new memory card, I want to record this, show you how beautiful you are.” His fingers scissor inside him opening him up and he drops his head against the cool tile. 

The feeling of Negan’s tongue penetrating his body sends fire licking up his spine. His hips buck back involuntary and Negan places a steady grounding hand on his hip while his tongue and finger explore him. His mind swims from the pleasure and he gently strokes his shaft as a litany of useless pleas fall from his open mouth. 

“Fuck,” Negan pants desperately while moving away from him. “You get me harder than a paedophile in a kiddy pool at a water park.”

“Do you even think about what you say or are you just as surprised as everyone else when the bullshit leaves your mouth?” Negan laughs and rises to his intimidating height once again. 

“I like to keep myself guessing.” He presses against him and he can feel the wet head of his cock nudge against his hole. 

“Fuck me.” He orders, a demanding submissive topping from the bottom but Negan doesn’t seem to mind. When he asserts his dominance, Negan is always eager and ready to serve as long as it is in keeping with his own agenda. 

His cock is slicked with something as it pushes inside him and he feels the burn of being stretched open by him again. It feels wrong that he had missed this but his head and his heart are at war with one another while his body sings with pleasure as Negan expertly plays with him. He drops his head back, silently begging kisses as Negan rolls his hips impaling him fully. Negan takes a hold of his throat with his left hand as he bestows and controls the kiss they share as his right hand joins Rick’s in stroking his cock.

He’s surprised he hadn’t already cum as his body is over stimulated, each touch electric and thrilling. He reaches back with his left hand and grabs Negan’s ass and pulls him harder against him wanting it faster and harder. He’s denied again, he isn’t surprised, Negan is stubborn and single-minded when it comes to sex. He’s lost in his own fantasy world where they are together in a loving healthy relationship not the rancid dubious mess they have made. He rolls his hips languidly and Rick rocks against him moaning loudly when their liplock is severed as Negan chooses to suck at his neck. He’s attempting to leave a mark and he finds he doesn’t really care as he presses back against him encouragingly. 

As a reward, Negan’s hand guides his own faster along his length and the rhythm of his hips quickens. He tightens his own grip, selfish to his own wants and mindless to Negan’s. He braces his left arm against the tile as his balls become heavy and drawn up ready for release. Negan releases his neck with a smack of his lips before his hot breath blew against the shell of his right ear. 

“I love you.” His body stills as jets of cum paint the shower wall before him. Despite the euphoria, he shakes his head in denial that Negan words- filthy lies- triggered his climax. “Fuck me, yes, fuck, you’re so tight.” He doesn’t pay attention to Negan’s words or as he is filled with the man’s cum as he simply wishes to be away from him. 

As soon as he is able, he breaks their connection and turns around, putting the showerhead back into position and resumes his shower. Negan stares questionably at him but he simply glares back, hazel on blue, confusion warring with aggression. It’s a standoff between two alpha males and Negan wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before holding both hands up placatingly and leaves the shower. 

He makes use of the shower gels as Doctor Carson only had lavender soap in his bathroom and vigorously cleanses his body, wiping all traces of Negan away. Once he is free of the older man and the water becomes cold he turns off the water and exits the shower and ties a white towel around his waist before entering the bedroom. 

Negan is waiting for him by the foot of the bed, dry with a towel wrapped precariously low on his sharp hips with a contemplative look on his face. “What the fuck is your problem?” He snaps, having stewed on his thoughts.

“You have to ask?” He replies in disbelief. 

“Oh fuck you, you know exactly what I mean.” He does but he doesn’t give him an answer. “I love you.” He flinches and Negan crows in victory. “That, either you don’t believe me or…”

“You don’t know me.” He interrupts, voice even as he eyes Negan’s clothes on the floor. 

“Because you won’t let me and I know more than you think.” He doesn’t want to listen to him anymore, he can’t kill him but that doesn’t mean he has to subject himself to his bullshit. He’s running, he knows, he always runs from his personal problems, always had and probably always will. 

He throws his towel aside and grabs Negan’s discarded jeans as he cannot locate his own and pulls them on. He ignores Negan’s pleased grunts as he pulls his T-shirt on and then slides his feet into his boots, they are only one size too big, perfectly manageable for where he needs to be, no destination simply away.

He marches over towards the door. “Paul Mortimer.” Negan announces suddenly stopping him in his tracks. Curiosity peaked, he throws an inquisitive look over his right shoulder. 

“Who is Paul Mortimer?” He asks, taking the bait. 

“I am.” He pauses, lost for words, they were sharing now? Negan was Negan, he didn’t know Paul and he certainly didn’t want to get to know Paul. Assured that he had his attention, Negan walks around the bed towards his side table and pulls something out and tosses it onto the bed. He can’t help but look and sees a Virginia driving license with a picture of Negan sans beard and the name Paul Mortimer. 

“This,” he says pointing at the license. “This doesn’t mean a thing. I know who you are, I know what you are.” 

“Now I really am curious about what it is that you did.” 

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Bullshit! You don’t get to live this long without any baggage. Come on, Rick, tell me. What’s the single worst thing you’ve ever done?” 

“Fuck off.”

“Baggage.” Negan sing-songs behind him. 

“Fine!” He snaps and turns pressing his back against the bedroom door. “It all kind of runs together at this point... hard to narrow it down. It's one solid block of bad all boiling down to one thing... the worst thing I ever did... live. When so many others... who should have... didn't.” 

“I hear that,” Negan concedes. “It’s still a fucking cop out though. Come on, tell me what you did, tell me what was so fucking awful you don’t think you deserve to be loved.” Tears well in his eyes and he blinks them back hearing his father’s voice inside his head telling him that men don’t cry after he got beaten by his brother’s bullies. Negan is a bully and he won’t be beaten again. 

He turns and pulls open the door only to have Negan approach quickly and slam the door. He opens it again only for the same thing to occur. “Stop it,” Negan insists, slamming the door for the third time. Hot tears sting his eyes and though he tries to prevent them they spill down his cheeks and his shoulders slump uselessly. Sensing defeat, Negan pulls him around and into his arms allowing him his grief. 

“I killed him,” he whispers. “I killed him.” He doesn’t want to elaborate and yet at the same time he wants to unburden himself. For weeks, months, Negan is the only one he could talk to and there seems to be something sincere in his questioning and so what if he knew? The deed had already been done and who would believe Negan if he were to tell? Who would listen? Who would care? 

Negan seems to genuinely care for whatever reason and is calm and patient, he could be someone else entirely and in that moment, he would believe it. “My partner, Shane.” He adds before realising his mistake. He hadn’t told Negan that he was a police officer and so the word partner may be misconstrued. If anything, it shows a pattern of behaviour. 

“Shane?” Negan questions, testing the name on his tongue. “Walsh?” He pulls away from him, stunned and tilts his head in query. He never mentioned Shane before, Spencer hadn’t known, which left Carl, but what he had told him he could only guess. “That guy that was boning your wife? The fuck you upset with killing him for? Shit, if a bastard knocked up my Lucille I’d have crushed his fucking skull in, but not you, Saint Rick. Fuck, you even kept his sprog, Judith really ain’t yours, is she? Sh-it.” He doesn’t know why he thought that Negan would quietly listen and not judge. He turns on his heels and heads towards the door before his wrist is caught. 

“I didn’t mean to sound like an insensitive prick. We’re sharing right now, I want to share with you. Just sit down,” he encourages gesturing towards the couch. “I’ll tell you what I did.” His leash has been extended, he could leave the room, but he would only be ignored again and he doesn’t want that, couldn’t stand it, not again. 

Reluctantly he takes a seat on the leather couch, the opposite one to which Negan directed. It’s petty but he feels better for it, defiant ‘till the end, however small that defiance may be. Negan takes the seat opposite him, thighs splayed open and back bent as he leans forward, hands clasped while he waits for him to continue. 

“He was like my brother,” he answers eventually. “He thought I was dead, well I think he did, he blocked the door so who knows?” If he was assumed dead, why did Shane protect his body? His actions belied his story of not hearing his heartbeat. “Lori, my wife, believed him when he told her I had died. Didn’t take her very long to get over me and get on her back.” He adds bitterly and hangs his head in shame. He shouldn’t speak ill of the dead and after all that he has done he hardly has room to judge anyone. “I thought I didn’t care, that I could just ignore it and fuck, I tried. Me and Lori were having problems before I got shot, we married too young, she always said I never talked to her about anything, that I ran away, involved myself with something else, ignored the problem and she was right. I didn’t begrudge her finding comfort in Shane’s bed, I didn’t because I didn’t love her enough to actually care. I was more annoyed at Shane, I only stayed with Lori for Carl’s sake, because he needed his mother and I was perfectly fine in my empty marriage, I had settled but Lori always had big dreams, bigger than mine. If she were here right now she would lose her mind, I haven’t spoken to anyone about this, I don’t talk about this… stuff.” 

“I hear ya,” Negan agrees despite being the one to make him spill his secrets. “I can see why our son is emotionally stunted, apple doesn’t fall very far from the fucking tree. You aren’t running from this so own up to it and quit being such a pussy.”

“Fuck you,” he replies on instinct and Negan smiles in return. “I thought things would go back to normal but Shane…he just couldn’t let it go, he wanted my life, my wife and son. We duked it out a couple of times like brothers do but he grew to resent me and planned to murder me. I got him first.” He could leave it there, say no more but now he’s spoken the words the dam has burst and his secrets spill from his mouth without his consent. “I never wanted to kill him, it should have never come to that. He loved Lori, I didn’t but my pride would not allow for me to stand aside. I stood between their happiness and for what? I tricked him and I stabbed him to death and I still took the moral high ground. Then do you know what I did? I turned Carl against his mother, I blamed Lori for Shane’s death because when he died everything just went to shit and it always comes back to him. I can’t right that wrong and history continues to repeat itself, Shane keeps on coming back just wearing a different face. You remind me of Shane.” 

“Well fuck,” Negan exclaims and sits upright. “I’m not Shane, I don’t want your life I want to be in your life.” 

“Why?” He finally asks because the answer eludes him. 

“Ain’t that just the million-dollar fucking question? So many fucking people...fucking weak, fucking weakass fucking people. Crying. Scared. Doing every-fucking thing in their power to get themselves killed. Spineless fucks cowering in fear until they’re ripped to shreds. I was surrounded by them. Watching them all die… so many I lost fucking count. After a while... I just started seeing everyone like that. Hell, most everyone is like that. I just lost all respect for the human race. Makes it really easy to bash a man's brain in when you think it might save all his friends… especially when you think the only way his friends can be tricked into living is if they're made into slaves. You stop seeing people as humans after a while, I know I did and then I saw you.” He pauses to deliver a lecherous wink. “Of course, I learnt all I could about you before our meet-cute, it’s not everyday someone murders forty plus people in the night while they slept. That is fucking badass, I mean fuck, who even does that? I don’t know if it was cowardly, cruel or fucking brilliant. So, I knew I needed to learn who the fuck this Rick Grimes character was, and you know what I found? Me.”

“I am nothing like you.”

“No, you’re much worse. You turn people away, you kill to solve your problems without a thought to theirs. That ego of yours, the one that couldn’t even let your wife and best friend be happy, that is what led you to me.” He pauses aware his mouth had gotten ahead of his thoughts and holds his hands up placatingly. “I’m not attacking you, I’m saying we’ve both done things that we thought were for the best. You don’t agree with some of my methods and I sure as shit don’t agree with some of yours but here we are. That night in the woods when we finally met, I didn’t see cattle, I finally saw a human again, didn’t even realise I was looking for it until I found it. Then your kid…I would have never hurt him, never made you hurt him I just wanted to tame you, that’s all. You’re a loose fucking cannon with a noticeable on-again off-again relationship with sanity. I never meant for you to be one of my wives, I just put you there because I thought you needed a break and I wanted to spoil you. I have every intention to make you my partner…”

“Whether I want it or not?” He interrupts and Negan’s eyes smolder as he slowly licks his lips.

“You want it, deny it as much as you like but you want it, you fucking need it.” He opens his mouth to deny the claim when he notices Negan playing with his wedding ring and he suddenly misses his own. “You never asked me what I did,” Negan whispers, defeated and contrite, staring at his wedding ring to avoid eye contact. 

“What did you do?” He asks, coerced into taking the bait once again. 

Uncharacteristically, Negan remains quiet, still toying with his ring. He’d remembered him taking it off in their mockery of a marriage and saw the inscription _love you forever_ written on the inside. Despite all of his false marriages, that was the ring he had kept, the one that meant the most, the one, he realises, that belonged to Paul Mortimer. 

“Back before the world went to shit my life did. My wife, Lucille…” that explained the strange naming of the bat. “She was diagnosed with brain cancer. We’d just bought a new house, I got a second job to pay for it, it was in this sweet little cu-de-sac like your Alexandria. I bullshitted you before, about wanting kids. I did want them, Lucille didn’t, said it would ruin her body and I went along with it, said it didn’t bother me, when it fucking did. I thought buying that house meant she was ready to settle down and start a family, the start of a new chapter not the end of the story. The cancer was incurable and so she came home to die, that’s when the outbreak happened. I learnt early on that we were all contaminated, Lucille died in my arms without being bitten or scratched and she came back and I left her to rot. I should have put her down, instead I locked the door and allowed our dream home to be her coffin because I’m a coward. I know I’m a shitty husband, just ask my wives. I loved her and I left her.”

“At least she died in your arms.” Rick offers, hardly an olive branch, more like a twig but it’s a start. “You say that I’m worse than you because I kill instead of maim but I wasn’t always like that. I showed mercy in the beginning, I spared a life that should not have been spared and my wife died for my mistake. My boy had to put down his own mother because I showed mercy.”

“Fuck, guess we’re both shitty husbands then.” An uncomfortable silence grows between them and the way Negan looks at him makes his heart race. 

“I have to go,” he speaks suddenly and stands up. “I have to find Carl,” he speaks half-truths to justify his actions when in reality he is only running away. Negan stands and grabs his wrist as he passes by. 

“He’s upset, give him time.” He pulls his arm free. “You can’t run from me. After Lucille, I promised myself if I should ever love again I would never leave them. You aren’t leaving me and I’m not leaving you.” 

“I don’t know what you want from me.” He replies, defeated. “I can’t…” he trails off lost for words. Negan takes hold of his wrist once more and pulls him close. He’s said too much, exposed himself in a way he hadn’t done before and his vulnerability makes him reckless. He seeks Negan’s lips for both comfort and distraction, if he can’t physically leave Negan then he would lose himself in the kiss. 

Negan grasps his hips and pulls him tight against him as his lips part for his exploratory kiss. He accepts the invitation with relish and takes what is offered stroking his tongue against Negan’s while his hands drop to his waist to loosen the towel. 

He breaks the kiss to watch the towel fall to the floor revealing Negan’s cock jutting proudly from a nest of dark curls. “So why Negan if your name is Paul?” He hears himself question as he traces the bandage on Negan’s left wrist vaguely wondering who had hurt him. 

“Deep Space Nine, the Ferengi high commander was called the Grand Nagus, so I was going to go with that before I realised someone might know. I toyed with Negus but it sounded too similar.” Negan answers and when he looks up in disbelief there is a slight colouring to Negan’s cheeks that makes him look fetching. 

“You’re a Trekkie?” He’s stunned by that. He’d expect something like that from Eugene but from Negan it was too surreal, too human. Sometimes he forgets that Negan is human too. 

Negan nods bashfully. “You married a fucking nerd.” He notices the way Negan says he married him as if it were his choice but he keeps that to himself, as Negan’s arms drop from around his waist and he walks over to the bed. 

Taking the hint, he kicks the large boots off and pushes the jeans down his legs and pulls off the shirt. He’d rather be in his own skin than Negan’s clothes, he didn’t know what possessed him to put them on in the first place. Negan is rummaging through the draw beside the bed, he had assumed for lube, so he is surprised when Negan turns wearing black thick rimmed glasses. The soft hue of pink still stains his cheeks, obvious against the alabaster skin and his expression is one of uncertainty. He’s exposing himself in a way he hadn’t done before, as Rick had. 

“I can’t see for shit,” he announces suddenly, loud and followed by forced laughter to hide his nerves. He takes the glasses off as quickly as he had put them on. “It’s why Carl does the books, I’m too fucking old.” He regularly complains about his age, yet never reveals it, though he can’t be much older than himself. 

He puts the glasses back in the drawer and sits down on the bed. Rick joins him and with the subtlety of a supernova, straddles his lap. Their lips clash in a battle of dominance, before Negan’s hands venture down his back, gliding over the firm globes of his ass before becoming greedy and grabbing. “Retirement has never looked so fucking good.” Negan announces cheerfully, ending the kiss to reach into the draw once more. Their positions make it awkward but Rick refuses to move too caught up in the feeling of his erection rubbing firmly against Negan’s. “Could you imagine it?” Negan asks, the words eventually penetrating through the maelstrom of his mind. “Fucking, eating, sleeping and fucking, maybe more eating, definitely more fucking.” He could imagine it, had imagined it and it was as terrifying as it was thrilling. The true sense of freedom but at what cost? 

He kisses Negan again to silence the impossible future he spoke of. For every action there was a reaction, for every positive there was a negative. He couldn’t wholly commit himself to such a future knowing that basking in the light meant others would wallow in his shadow. Negan’s hands return to his heated skin once more, his left cupping a buttock while his right-wet with lubricant- glides between his cheeks to tease his hole. 

He moans into Negan’s mouth as the first digit penetrates him, sinking deeply inside and quickly followed by a second. Despite his mouth being occupied, Rick was sure Negan would break the kiss to speak dirty to him, and he’s confused as to why he isn’t. By the third finger he breaks the kiss himself to sit back and stroke his throbbing cock. He gathers the pre-cum from the tip of his penis onto the pad of his thumb and brings it to Negan’s lips and presses it into his mouth without protest. 

Negan sucks on this thumb dutifully, humming low in his throat, pleased. Negan removes his fingers and while in distraction of the loss, Rick is pushed from his lap and tumbles onto his back on the bed. Negan grins wolfishly and squirts more lube into his hand quickly slicking his cock as he scrambles between his parted thighs. Rick closes his legs on instinct and turns, allowing Negan’s momentum to make him face-plant onto the mattress. He turns in query and frustration and so he pushes him onto his back and straddles his waist once more. 

It was a half-baked idea and it is full of false starts before he reaches behind him, grasps Negan’s length and sits down on it allowing his weight and gravity to do the rest. Negan simply stares at him, slack-jawed and awed, there’s something intense in his gaze, possessive, that makes his heart rate spike and excites him. It shouldn’t, none of this should be happening but it is and he can’t fight it anymore because he wants it, so badly, more than his next breath. 

He gently rolls his hips and his panted moan is chorused by Negan’s. His reaction stirs a response and he repeats the action watching as Negan’s hands pressed against the headboard to prevent himself from reaching for him. He regarded Rick with hooded eyes as his bottom lip was bitten red and the blood stained his pearly white teeth making him appear feral. Rick wanted to kiss him then, to taste his blood and swallow it as if it were the sweetest nectar. 

He reached out and pulled Negan’s hair enjoying the way his head jerked back and the long pale column of his throat was on display. He watched the apple of his throat bob slowly as Negan swallowed thickly and the vein in his neck throbbed as his pulse quickened. Rick leaned down and ran his tongue up Negan’s neck and over his proud jutting chin, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of the bristles of his beard against his tongue. He gazed into Negan’s eyes for a moment, accepting the challenge he found there and covered his lips with his own and plundered his mouth with his tongue. There was no finesse with his kiss only take-want-have as he licked the blood from his teeth barely tasting the coppery tang. He broke the kiss and enjoyed the way Negan’s head lifted to chase after his mouth. He licked his lower lip in concession before moving away completely and fell into a steady rhythm unconsciously in time with Negan’s panted breath. 

He stroked his cock leisurely as he slowly rose and fell on Negan’s cock and simply enjoyed the experience of being in control. Negan liked to put him onto his back and make love to him but he had to show him that this wasn’t love. There was something between them, that he could not deny, but it wasn’t love, he wasn’t sure he was even capable of it anymore. 

“Stop getting lost in that pretty little head of yours.” Negan warns and he gathers his facial expressions must have given away his straying thoughts. Negan knocks his hand away from his cock and replaces it with his left hand, gathering the pre-cum and smearing it down his shaft. He drops his head back and stares at the canopy of the four-post bed as he rides him faster, setting his nerve endings on fire as the warmth spreads throughout his body. 

It’s not enough. He rubs over Negan’s bandaged forearm encouraging him to tighten his grip and quicken his actions and when he does not he scratches at the presumed injury. Negan laughs darkly in response and releases his cock to unwrap the bandage. The dressing is pristine and he did not seem to care whether it got wet in the shower so what he is hiding is a mystery. He unwraps it deliberately slowly and Rick stills his movements, curious as Negan eyes him, licking his lips in trepidation. 

Black ink is the first thing he sees on Negan’s inner forearm. A tattoo? A block capital letter K is revealed spanning an inch in length, followed by a, C, I and eventually R nearest his elbow. He stares at his name dumbfounded, his mouth opening and closing, trying to give voice to unformulated words. 

Negan grins in apparent satisfaction and uses his distraction to throw him onto his back. He dives between his parted thighs, raising his hips as he pushes inside him. He’s rough, taking him harder than he had before and he needs that, the pain, the pleasure, to tear his mind away from the sheer insanity of the tattoo. His skin is on fire as he rakes his nails down Negan’s back, pushing against him, wanting more, harder, he wants to be punished for wanting him, it, whatever the hell it was between them. 

“I love you.” Negan pants into his ear, and he pushes at his shoulders, shakes his head in denial, needing to get away, and yet his body convulses as he reaches completion painting Negan’s chest with his seed. His useless pushes became gentle caresses as he basks in the afterglow, body spent and mind torn as Negan spills himself inside him. He shivers at the sensation and his cock twitches painfully as Negan continues to thrust inside him, riding out his orgasm, stretching out every second into an hour. 

Eventually he pulls his softening cock from his abused hole and his seed coats his thighs as Negan rummages through the draw once more. He’s floating somewhere between euphoria and insanity when Negan drags him back into the present by pushing his wedding ring- Mark’s- onto his finger. 

He stares at it and panics because he wants it. He sits up, pulls the ring from his ring and tosses it at Negan. 

“This doesn’t change anything. I like to fuck you but I don’t love you.” He spits nastily, wanting-no-needing to hurt Negan’s feelings. Needing to hurt Negan. 

Negan shrugs unperturbed and returns the ring to the draw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title comes from the song 'Two Out Of Three Ain't Bad' - Meatloaf


	19. In The Shadows

Waking up on a mattress was a disorienting experience after days, weeks, months, waking on a cold concrete floor. He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly to dislodge the sleep and as his eyes focused he found the space beside him vacant with the covers drawn back. He threw his right hand out and touched the crumpled fitted sheet finding it cold to the touch. His eyes were then drawn to the pillow where the indent of Negan’s head still remained and beside it was his- Mark’s- wedding ring. 

He groaned in disapproval and threw a distasteful glare at the bathroom door and was surprised to find it open and vacant. He turned petulantly in the covers expecting to find Negan sat on the couch poring over books but he soon learnt he was mistaken and was alone. Sitting up with his gaze still towards the couch he could see a pile of clothes. The abundance of denim suggested they were his, the alligator skin boots only confirmed his suspicion and his brown bomber jacket thrown casually over the back of the chair cleared up any doubt. It was terribly domestic and it made his skin crawl. 

Pushing the covers off, he dangled his legs off his side of the bed and saw his watch on the nightstand. He eyed the door incredulously and realised he had been given the dominant position in bed, as the alpha male tended to sleep nearest the door. It seemed deliberate, Negan was methodical and thorough in his games and he was extremely self-aware and was not afraid to show his weakness or act submissively. He had been excited when he first forced to him to his knees, cumming in his pants like a teen when he was aggressive and choked him. Even on his knees he was in control, he allowed him, he was still a dog on a leash. Negan was manipulative, as he had proven time and again. Yes, he could surrender power, play the submissive but it was a play, an act, Negan wasn’t even Negan, possibly the greatest act of all. So he gave him the illusion of control when in reality it was only self-preservation. 

Climbing off the bed, he walked over to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. It was a shock to the system to find his toothbrush resting beside Negan’s blue one, just another indication that everything had been premeditated. Though he wondered how could it be, how could Negan-Paul- whoever the fuck he was, know that he would succumb to the sun and his own mind? Maybe it was wishful thinking believing he would be overcome with gratitude after being locked up but that did not explain why Negan broke his own rules. Spouses were not allowed to spend the night unless it was their honeymoon which he made quite clear that theirs was officially over. He was a stickler for the rules so why break them now? The thought that Negan spoke honestly yesterday was laughable…and yet, what if he had spoken truthfully? What if he did see him as an equal, it would explain why it was apparent that he had clearly moved in. 

He rinses his mouth out and has a quick shower, the water cold against his bed heated skin. He doesn’t wait for the water to heat up and exits the shower when the first vapours begin to mist the glass. He uses Negan’s body spray and deodorant liberally and quickly towel dries his body, scrubbing at his hair before leaving the bathroom and venturing towards his clothes. 

They are his, as he had already realised. He dresses quickly in the boxers, socks, jeans and blue shirt. He sits down to pull his boots on and eyes his gun belt. Standing up he decides it is better to be with his gun than without and he attaches the belt around his waist and eyes his jacket. 

He’s half convinced himself not to wear it when there is knocking at the door. “Come in,” he calls and turns from his jacket, deciding against wearing it and faces the door. It opens hesitantly before a dark head of hair pokes through the gap and pale lips tug upwards into a smile.

“Hey Dad,” Carl greets upbeat, pleased to see him and he is able to relax. Carl kicks the door open and he is heartened to see Judith held in his arms. “Look Judith, it’s Daddy.” He approaches with his arms held out, for as long as Judith has been in the Sanctuary he has yet to be able to hold her. Carl passes her without delay and she looks at him with Shane’s eyes and hardly reacts, he is as much a stranger to her as anyone else, as he was always passing her off to slake his own lust. He refuses to be that man anymore. 

“Hey, baby girl, hey.” He ignores the tears in his eyes as he holds her chubby little fist and rocks her in his arms. “Is she okay, are you okay?” 

“We’re good.” Carl answers with a shrug. They both look clean and healthy, small mercies. 

“Where’s Negan?” He hates that he asks. He hates how that man occupies so much space in his mind.

Carl shrugs. “Said he’s giving you some space.” It sounds suspiciously like bullshit, but who is he to argue when he is dressed in his own clothes, with his own children without supervision. 

“Did he send you?” He can’t stop looking the gift horse in the mouth expecting Negan to emerge from under the bed like the monster that he is. 

“Yeah, asked me to show you around. There’s a nursery for Judith if you wanted to check that out, or whatever.” The ball was in his court, the rarity of the situation struck him like a freight train. Maybe it was pessimistic, but he found himself walking around Carl and stepping foot outside the room. He felt guilty for doubting Carl, but his words were secondary not his own and his allegiance to Negan often left him feeling confused and uncomfortable. 

He enters the room once more and sets Judith down on the bed as he puts his watch on. His eyes are once again drawn to Negan’s pillow and without thinking he snatches the ring and shoves it into his pocket before sparing a look towards Carl finding him oblivious to his actions and pulling faces at Judith. 

“So, nursery?” He offers and lifts Judith once more. 

At Carl’s nod, he exits the room and turns left. Halfway down the corridor he realises he was walking towards the bar, muscle memory or old habits. He should turn off and venture down the stairs but he finds himself completing the journey needing to see the wives. He felt a sense of responsibility for them, though he shouldn’t, they had made their beds as he had but still he could not stop himself from caring. 

His heart stills in his chest as the doors are closed. He glances at his watch- 10:36am- the wives should be settled by now. He tries the door but finds it locked and knocks in panic, disturbing Judith in his arms. “Open up!” 

“Dad…” the tone of Carl’s voice stills his movements and makes him fear the worst. 

“Where are they?” He asks softly, as if giving the words volume would solidify the wives’ demises. 

“They plotted to kill Negan…”

“So Negan killed them?” He interrupts. 

“No, he’s not like…he’s not like that.” He picks up on Carl’s hesitation, knows that the omitted and amended word was _you._

He ignores the slight in favour of information. “What happened to them?” 

“Most of them are locked in their rooms.” He nods, having been punished the same but at least they had thin walls and each other. “Tiffany is now lower tier laundry.” Lower tier? There was a hierarchy in the laundry department? He supposed it made sense, Negan was trying to rebuild the world and the work industry was a great place to start using tried and true methods. “Megan is in the hole and Amber is on the line.” His stomach drops, Megan was too delicate to be locked in a room and forced to shit in a bucket and Amber…Negan didn’t count a walker as the dead? 

“Amber’s dead?” She was too young, too soft and far too naïve for this world, maybe now she could be at peace while her corpse guards the Sanctuary beside Mike.

“Dead to Negan, he divorced her, now her, Mark and her mom patrol the walkers.” His expression must have changed as Carl holds out his hands as if to physically stop his thoughts. “It’s not as bad as it sounds since Eugene covered the walkers in molten metal, they’re more at risk at sunburn than being bitten.” It’s a small mercy and at least she can be with Mark now, although if she had only acted sooner she could have spared Mark from the horrific torture. He shakes his head, he always had a love/hate relationship with Amber because he identified too much with her situation and he projected his self-disgust onto her. 

Judith fidgets in his arms and he realises he had resorted to old habits, concerning himself in matters he had no business in while ignoring his children. 

“Are there many children Judith’s age?” He asks and very much doubts it and Carl shrugs in reply. “Let’s go and see,” he says mostly to Judith. He follows Carl to the stairwell and is surprised to see Carl go up rather than down. 

“Quicker this way,” Carl answers seeing confusion on his face. He shrugs and follows along up three flights of stairs, across a glass walkway to the other side that brought back memories of the prison. Considering the building is structurally identical, it is like stepping into another building, another world. Each floor is as it was before, open, spacious without drywall to create new rooms. 

The hammering of needles from numerous sewing machines echo in the room and he looks around at the endless rows of clothes lined up at the back wall five rows deep while five women and one man carry on their duties. 

They walk to the stairwell and venture down and at each new level Carl tells him what is there. Gym, Library, School, Laundry, industrial kitchen and ground floor market. The market is as busy as ever as people queue trading points for wares, there’s never a dull moment as the Sanctuary is teeming with life. 

The Nursey, he is told, is on the ground floor at the front of the building as the majority of parents are workers in the market trading points for babysitting. He’s surprised to see a familiar brunette stood by a child-safety gate in an old front office. 

“Hey Carl,” she greets, all doe-eyed and cheerful and Carl presses a kiss to her cheek. “Hey Judith.” Judith reaches for her and he passes her over when she begins to fuss. Brooke takes her and then extends her hand to him. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Grimes, Carl has told me so much about you.” He takes her hand, soft and delicate in his and gives it a firm shake before releasing it. 

“All lies,” he quips as Carl has his head down, bashful. 

“Would you like to stay and watch Judith?” Brooke asks politely and already he finds himself taken with her and approving of her relationship with Carl. 

“Just for a while,” he replies and Brooke sets Judith down and opens the gate. He enters with Carl following close behind him and is surprised to see seven toddlers excluding Judith and two babies. There’s another young girl in the room, blonde-haired and pretty who he had also seen around Carl the day of the ping pong tournament. She smiles welcomingly and continues to rock the baby to sleep in her arms. 

He turns his attention towards Judith and watches her waddle towards the other children. Six of them are together preoccupied with the pile of toys but the seventh, a boy with a mop of black curls is by the window looking out with his back to the others. It is to him, that Judith goes, standing beside him pressed up against him as she has no concept of personal space, just like Negan. He banishes the comparison from his thoughts and watches as Judith keeps the quiet boy company and stares out of the window. It’s a beautiful moment, and he is beyond proud of her as she has shown a kind caring nature so early on. 

He hadn’t wanted to leave her, he meant only to look over the place but seeing how Judith interacted with her own age group made him realise he was being selfish. It was important for her development to be among her own peer group. She couldn’t have this in Alexandria, people there were too afraid to procreate, he was almost jealous how safe and secure the average joes felt at the Sanctuary. He had wished to instill that sense of calm and security among his people but he had failed spectacularly. 

“Are you okay looking after her? What do I owe you?” He questions Brooke who shrinks at his inquiry. 

“It’s taken care of, Dad. See you later, Brooke.” He doesn’t know what he did to terrify Brooke and he doesn’t ask as Carl leads him out of the nursery and back into the market. He’s struck again how he is standing in Deanna’s vision of the future. The Sanctuary had security and growth and watching the developing civilization made him realise just how stagnant Alexandria had become. There was no growth there, they were simply existing and he had murdered men in their sleep to perpetuate that fruitless existence. 

Being within the Sanctuary, seeing the world Negan had built, he could finally understand Negan’s actions. Before the world had ended the 1% controlled the world, funding wars and mainstream media, buying judges and paying for silence. Negan was recreating the world as himself as the top 1%. Communism had never worked because of the human fallible nature, so why should he judge Negan more harshly than he judges himself? He has been unfair, caught up in emotion, devastated by the loss of Glenn and crippled by the blow to his ego. 

He walks around the market simply taking it all in while Carl trails behind him, mumbling numbers as he eyes the stalls. They stop to have cheese toasties, the novelty of it almost a sin as they stand off to the side of the stall munching happily. It is then that he spots Negan some metres away with a steaming Styrofoam cup in his right hand. He gives the man credit for not turning away when he catches him staring though he shouldn’t be surprised, proper etiquette tended to evade Negan. 

Negan winks, confirming his thoughts and takes a step forward before stopping abruptly. He’s surprised by his self-restraint as he knows Negan had intended to accost him but had clearly remembered his promise to give him some space. He appreciates it, though he misses the taste of his kisses and the brush of his beard against his naked skin. They share a room now, so there will be plenty of opportunities to explore each other’s bodies. 

“Ugh,” Carl interrupts his thoughts and he turns to him questioningly. “You two making eyes at each other.” He’d deny it, had it not been true. 

Absently, he reaches into his pocket and touches the ring before looking over towards Negan again. He’s attracted a crowd of elderly women who gaze at him adoringly feeding his God complex. Naturally he revels in their praise and gifts them smiles and he finds himself jealous once more. Jealous by their unwavering love and admiration for Negan when all he managed to attain was some form of acceptance but mostly disdain. Jealous because Negan’s attention had been turned away from him. It is petty and troubling but he doesn’t want to burn in Negan’s light, he wants to shine right beside him…he wants…

There’s a commotion by the cobblers and he turns to see a Saviour looking unrepentant at the stack of boxes he had toppled over. He glowers at the cobbler who had dropped his hammer startled and when he lowers his head in subjugation, he advances towards Negan. Though he whispers in his ear he wildly gesticulates and Negan’s smile falters as his eyes widen. Afterward he places his cup down on a table, bids farewell to the ladies and calmly leaves the market. 

“What was that about?” He asks Carl, but he shrugs in response and doesn’t look troubled. He gives it no more thought and carries on around the market, Carl’s points seem limitless and so he encourages him to pay his debt with the soup lady. She recognizes him from the day before but her eyes alight when she sees Carl and tells him he is in great company. Carl awards her one hundred and fifty points and tears mist her eyes as she is overcome with joy. 

They leave her there, muttering her appreciation and wiping at her tears and then leave the market. He gathers it must be lunchtime as the children come stomping down the stairs and spill out into the market just as they exit and he breathes a sigh of relief though he can’t help but smile. Here he stands in Deanna’s vision, he couldn’t save her son, Spencer was a ticking time bomb so he at least owed it to her to maintain the Sanctuary. 

“Not like what you were expecting?” Carl asks nudging his elbow good naturedly and he shakes his head in reply. Carl can see he is in awe and truly he was expecting Sodom and Gomorrah not this civilized society. He had only seen the ugly side in the form of the Saviour militia not realising they were protecting something beautiful, like a flower that grows in the shadow. He had initially thought Negan was the Governor reincarnate but he can see how wrong he is. The Governor was psychotic and childish with his temper and so single-minded that he would destroyed everything if it didn’t go his way. Negan was thoughtful, charismatic and dangerous and was unafraid to show it. He was brazen and unapologetic and there was something endearing about it. Despite his penchant for manipulation, he was honest and straight forward and above all else he valued life. 

They walk around to the right side of the building and as they are halfway down, he pauses and looks back, seeing long blonde hair among the wall of walkers. He turns fully and sees Amber in a dirty cream coloured sweater and trousers with the letter B spray painted on the front and back. She’s helping an elderly lady dressed similarly to sit on an overturned crate with the letter G on the front while he spots Mark lingering behind, demoted with the letter L on his uniform. 

Given her new position, Amber wears a smile, something he hadn’t seen on her face before and is quite stunned by its presence now. She must feel his eyes on her as she straightens stiffly and turns her head towards him and flicks long straight hair over her shoulder. They had never spoken but they are drawn towards each other and as they get to within a metre of each other they both stop awkwardly and while Amber shyly toys with her hair he fiddles with the ring in his pocket. 

“I’m sorry.” He speaks first. He shouldn’t have acted as he did, he shouldn’t have gotten himself locked away, he should have protected the wives. 

“It’s not your fault.” Amber replies, voice soft and unwavering. “You saved me.”

“Me?” He asks incredulously. He had attempted to intervene when Negan interrogated her but he had failed. 

“You showed me that I could stand up to Negan, that I could live my life how I choose. I was too afraid before, we all were, thanks to you I stopped being afraid.” His lips move but no words are forming. He clears his throat feeling choked up. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” He gestures towards the wall and her clothing and she gifts him a rare smile that brightens her cherubic face. 

“I’m with my family, I’m exactly where I should be.” He looks over her shoulder to see Mark, half his face horrifically scarred but there is a smile gracing his lips and the old woman- Amber’s mother- seems just as content. He looks over his own shoulder and looks at Carl, sees how comfortable he is and how much he had grown and knows there is validity to Amber’s statement. He is with his family and that is where he should be. 

He holds his arms out for a hug, if he can forgive Amber for her folly then maybe he can learn to forgive himself. She accepts his invitation without hesitation and he whispers his thanks into her ear before they separate. He holds her hands in his and allows himself to smile and share in her contentment while he searches for the right words. 

“It’s okay,” Amber giggles, childish and carefree. “I’m happy now, that’s all…” something splashes against his face and Amber drops forward. His ears ring from a gunshot and everything slows down in that moment. He catches Amber on instinct and knows she’s dead without looking at her blood-soaked hair and the hole in the back of her head. 

Mark screams for his deceased wife and her mother wails as gunfire echoes all around chorused by the shattering of glass and the screams of the innocent.

“Dad, let’s go!” Carl screams but he is frozen, holding onto a girl that was moments ago full of life.

He can’t act. He can’t think. War had come.


	20. War

His ears are ringing while his heart pounds furiously in his chest. Amber slumps further into his arms, one hundred pounds seemingly doubled by death. Carl is screaming behind him, while Mark is yelling in front of him, coming to collect his wife like an angel of death. 

He feels as if he is drowning. He can’t breathe and his vision had become distorted. Had they used smoke bombs? Was there a fire? The enemy are shrouded by mist, a toxic fog to hide behind. They had come from the woods as he would have, the woods have been somewhat cut back but not enough…not enough to spare Amber’s life. 

Mark freezes mid-shout and his watering green eyes widen before blood rises in his mouth and spills from his parted lips. He chokes on his own blood once before crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust, right hand reaching out to embrace his dead wife. 

The Saviours are slow to react. They’ve been caught off-guard, betrayed by their own egos believing none would dare defy them. He would laugh had he not come up short himself. He looks up towards the top of the building remembering the sniper rifles and rocket launchers. There’s a mad scramble as the snipers seem divided towards the north and south. He turns to see what has their attention but the sound of encroaching gunfire stills his movements. Figures are taking shape in the fog as they approach and his mouth gapes as he watches the snipers systematically fall. The precision makes him think of Sasha and the thought makes him feel sick. 

“Dad!” Carl yells out in panic, before several figures emerge from the fog and fire at them. He pulls Amber more securely into his arms and uses her as a shield as rushes backwards, towards Carl. 

“Get into the building!” He roars barely hearing himself from the hail of bullets. 

“Why are they doing this?” Carl asks, getting behind him as they stagger towards the building. 

Amber’s back is a mess of bullet holes and his shirt and jeans are saturated with her blood. Her mother had stopped screaming so he can only assume a bullet had seen her from this world. It is cruel, but he does not know their assailants, a small mercy, though Carl seems to be aware of who they are. 

There are no doors on the west side of the building, he belatedly realises, though he presses up against the brick regardless and continues to walk backwards. Figures emerge from the mist wearing self-made riot gear, normally he would laugh but the threat they pose is too severe. They don’t appear to see them, as the hail of bullets become focused, still wasteful but now fired with direction towards the front of the building. 

“What are they doing?” Carl cries in his ear in confusion as he is shielded behind his back. 

“I don’t know.” He can only assume a group of Saviours have engaged with them, but he can’t be sure and he refuses to lose the window of opportunity they have been granted. “Go, go!” He insists with a shove, and turns to press a kiss against Amber’s forehead before he lays her body in the dirt and takes off running behind the building. 

There’s a door to the market a third of the way up and as they rush towards it movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. He doesn’t stop running, he can’t afford to, but he turns his head and a fog of rage distorts his vision as he spies a truck crashed through the far eastern fence with an army of Saviours surrounding it. Carl must have seen it too, as he comes to a halt making him collide into him. He grabs his arms preventing him from falling to the ground and notices his skin has turned ashen. 

“The truck…” Carl doesn’t say anything else, he doesn’t need to, they both know that truck was last seen in Alexandria. “They know that we are here, don’t they care?” Carl asks, searchingly, desperate and betrayed and he would love to come to the defense of his ‘family’ but he can’t. The truth is they have become expendable. They know Carl is alive and well and his cooperative behaviour implied he was alive as would the kidnapping of Judith. This isn’t a rescue mission, it’s retribution, why else would they use Wolves tactics to attack rather than stealth to penetrate.

It is a hateful act, and he can see immediately what it was they wished to accomplish. The Saviours were too preoccupied with the truck coming from the south east and were blind to the attack from the north west. The majority of the Saviours had rushed out to fix the fence leaving the north of the building vulnerable and open to attack. They weren’t shooting at people they were shooting at the windows compromising the buildings integrity leaving it vulnerable for a walker invasion. 

“They’re shooting at the windows!” He yells when realization strikes him like a freight train. “Judith!” 

“Brooke!” Carl yells in return and they rush towards the door and yank it open and enter a world of chaos. People are running in all directions, confused, scared and crying, the school had just let out for lunch and the market is filled with the piercing screams of children that breaks his heart. 

“Get up the stairs!” He yells and begins to shove people in the direction of the stairs when they do not obey. “Get to high ground, go, get up the stairs!” Carl rushes to the other side of the market herding people as they disobey their own orders and keep moving towards the front of the building. “Get to high ground!” The higher the better if the Saviours fail to secure the fence. “Stay away from the windows, get to the stairs!” The cries lessen but the fear is prominent but with direction the market begins to empty clearing his path. 

He is met with pats and stuttering thanks said through tears and as he nears the front his heart plummets as he sees the devastation. Children, men and women, simple folk that hadn’t done a thing wrong had paid the ultimate price and for what? It’s a senseless killing, he missed Glenn as much as the next person, he owed him his life but this…Glenn wouldn’t want this. Blood for blood. An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind. Hadn’t there been enough killing? 

The gunfire hadn’t ceased but had been redirected once more. This time he assumes a garrison of Saviours have intercepted them. His thoughts grind to a halt as he sees the safety gate still in position and locked. He approaches cautiously, afraid at what he might find. Carl approaches slowly from the right as he nears the door and vomit rushes up his throat as he sees the blood. He turns and spits out the bile as he squeezes his eyes shut and hits the wall against his back. He doesn’t want to see any more, as accustomed to death as he had become it was still a taboo when it came to children. 

“Dad?” Carl asks, voice wavering, fearing the worst. He had seen his mother die, he owed it to him to see if his sister has met an equally grisly end.

Spitting the vile taste from his mouth, he moves away from the wall and approaches the safety gate. All of the windows have been shot out and the floor is covered in glass and there, among the shattered glass is the little dark-haired boy Judith had stood with lying dead in a pool of his own blood. He opens the gate and enters the room and Carl follows him inside. A bullet to the head had killed the boy, as good as an execution. It feels wrong to leave the body but the boy is gone and the war still rages and Judith is still lost. 

He looks around the room for clues. There is blood next to the boy but not his as the blood splatter leads away from the window towards the corner of the room. He follows the trail and hears a child’s stifled whimper and the hushes of an adult before he finds a door half hidden behind a cabinet. He imagines one of the girls pulled it into position as much as possible leaving a gap that she could then squeeze through. He pushes the cabinet aside without thinking, startling those within the room. 

“It’s me,” he hisses in a whisper before realising they would not know his voice. “It’s Rick…and Carl.” He adds knowing they were familiar with his son rather than himself. 

“Mr Grimes?” A familiar voice calls out. “Help us, Judith’s been hurt.” His blood runs cold and he pulls the door open with force to come face to face with a teary-eyed Brooke protectively holding a weeping Judith against her chest. “I’m so sorry Mr Grimes, it happened so fast. Judith and Tommy were by the windows when the glass shattered and Tommy…Tommy…” she succumbs to her sorrow possibly spying the dead boy behind him and passes Judith over. 

There’s blood on Brooke’s white vest that he knows is not hers and finds the source as he collects Judith, turning her and sees her face covered in little cuts. There’s a deep laceration beneath her left eye, any higher and it would have cost her her vision. His blood boils but he knows he cannot give in to his rage, as there are still six toddlers and two babies as well as the two girls to protect. 

“Come out, quick and go up the stairs. Carl, lead them to Negan’s room.” It is the only safety he has ever known, perhaps it is as good as hiding beneath the covers but it is all he can think of. 

Carl approaches Brooke and wipes away her tears before he is passed a baby and he waits for Brooke to take the other baby before leaving the room. The other girl, he never learnt her name ushers the children out trying to make a game of it and he checks the room to make sure everyone is out before he follows at the rear, with Judith crying silently against his chest. 

He had forgotten the devastation of the market place and is reminded of it by the children’s cries of distress. He hates that they have to see this, hates that he made them but they weren’t safe, no one was and if that meant he would have to shatter their innocence then so be it. 

“Keep going, get to the stairs.” The children follow frightened but dutifully and he feels like the villainous Pied Piper leading the children away. It would kill him not knowing the fate of Judith and though he feels the parents pain he knows they would prefer their children to be safe, to reunite them so soon would be inviting death. 

They hurry up the stairs, higher than before, as the glass walkway was too dangerous a path to cross. After the third floor the whimpers and cries of those taking refuge on each level reach his ears and sends him back into a time he would rather forget. He shakes his head trying to rid himself of those thoughts but when he opens his eyes it isn’t the nameless girl ahead of him it is Jessie, sweet warm-hearted Jessie. 

His heart plummets to his toes as she smiles at him, with adoration in her eyes that he was unworthy of. With a blink of his eye she is screaming, a mother mourning the loss of her son. The next blink she is covered in blood, left arm missing and her face is torn open and the adoration in her eyes turns to scorn. That he did deserve. He shakes his head again and Jessie is gone once more, but the memory of it sends a chill down his spine. 

Why had the Alexandrians done this? Daryl had been here, he must have known about the people and he can’t imagine the others acting without his consent. Why would they choose to inflict the very same horror they lived through? It is a childish temper tantrum thrown by egotistical self-righteous bastards. Everything Negan had said, all the things he had accused him of had been true. The future was here at the Sanctuary, Alexandria was a place of stagnation and still they chose revenge and annihilation to perpetuate their continued nothingness. 

“Dad!...Dad! Come on!” In his musing he had stood stock-still, frozen in another time and place, watching little Sam being torn apart. Carl had been there too, screaming, begging for help as he stood trapped by Jessie’s death grip. One, if not the worse nights of his life and the Alexandrians had thought to visit that on these people. It’s sick. 

“Dad!” He awakens from his reverie, and runs along the corridor joining the others in the stairwell and they venture down together. He has to stay strong, he can’t afford to lose himself in the ensuing chaos but his head hurts and his blood boils. 

He gets to Negan’s floor in a daze as Carl leads the charge and they hurry along taking two left turns and a long straight to Negan’s room. He was once told that he would get used to the monotony of the Sanctuary and he could now walk the path in his sleep, it is unfortunate that he is currently in a nightmare.

The door is open as they had left it only hours ago but it feels like a lifetime. The children are huddling up by the bed as he looks around the room finding nothing amiss and the windows are still intact. “Get into Judith’s room,” he orders and they quickly follow Carl into the room. He glances down the halls and finding them clear he approaches Judith’s bedroom and passes Judith over, before riffling through the dresser draws. He retrieves the key to the room, a first aid kit and a colt 45 with a box of ammunition and enters the room. 

The two babies are in the crib while Judith is sobbing quietly against Carl’s chest. Brooke and her friend are pale and shaken but resolute in their roles as guardians while the children play on the floor with Judith’s toys. The resiliency of the children is inspiring. He places the items on the white dresser and approaches Carl and cups the back of Judith’s head and turns her head to face him. The laceration is not as deep as he had thought and would not require stitching as he feared. 

Judith squirms in Carl’s arms and so he passes her over to Brooke. “I need you to clean those wounds, there’s plenty of wipes in the draws and plasters in the first aid kit.” He informs while pointing, he doesn’t mean to be patronizing, as he’s just as panicked as they are. He inclines his head towards the door, lifts up the Colt and exits the room with Carl following behind him. He stops abruptly and turns pressing his hand against Carl’s chest, stilling him in the doorway. “Carl, I need you to take this.” He presses the gun into Carl’s hand. “The key is on the table, I need you to lock the door when I’m gone and don’t open it for anyone other than me or Negan.” 

Carl nods slowly. “What are you going to do?” 

It’s a good question and he doesn’t even know himself. He looks at the dresser and notices Lucille rests there discarded which meant Negan was out there unarmed. He lifts the bat up and looks at Carl. 

“I’m going to make a choice.”

“I could…”

“No.” He interrupts. “I need you to stay here and protect the children. If I don’t come back…if Negan doesn’t come back, do whatever is necessary to survive, do you hear me?” He grips the back of Carl’s neck with his left hand and presses their foreheads together. “I love you, now lock the door.” He presses a kiss against Carl’s forehead and tries to ignore the look of devastation on his face as he releases him. 

“I love you too, Dad.” The unsaid ‘goodbye’ is present in his tone, they both know that this is the end of something. The door shuts and he turns when he hears the click of the lock and walks over towards the coffee table. He sets Lucille down on the chair and pulls on his brown suede jacket, it’s not much in the way of armour but it had saved him from a walker’s bite before. He zips up the jacket, ensures his Colt Python is secure at his hip before he lifts Lucille once more and exits the room shutting the door behind him. 

He turns right and takes off at a run to the end door. Caution gets the better of him and he opens the door and when a hail of bullets do not come he looks through the gap and finds the floor empty. He slips through and rushes down the stairs, across the floor, past the steps to the double exit doors beside the platform. He presses his ear to the door but hears nothing, the firing is north of the building while he is currently to the east. He pushes the door open and rushes out heading south, assuming Negan was called away to take care of the lorry. He throws a look over his shoulder and spies a group of black clad figures on bicycles. He continues to run unconcerned as the group are hanging back awaiting an outcome before pledging allegiance, smart but underhanded. 

His feet start to sink in the sandy dirt but he carries on and sees the Saviours are preoccupied with the walkers that have entered through the broken fence. He uses Lucille to swing at the head of the nearest walker and he clears up the stragglers that have got past the first line of defense as he approaches the eye of the storm. He tries to look for Negan but there is too much movement even as the crowd of walkers thins out. 

During the lull, someone had climbed into the cabin of the lorry and drove it forward into the compound bringing forth another wave of walkers. He nears the lorry and sees the front window is riddled with bullet holes and covered in blood on the inside. As he gets closer the passenger door is kicked open and a tall bulky dead body is kicked out of the cabin. It only takes a moment to recognize the short mousey receding hair and confirm that the Alexandrian’s had started this as Tobin lies dead at his feet. 

He fights the walkers with more gusto, making his way around the truck. “Rick?” He turns at the use of his name surprised to find Hardy without Laurel stood before him, big belly hanging over the waist of his denims. He looks shorter than he remembered. 

“Where’s Negan?” 

A look of confusion crosses Hardy’s face surprising him as he thought he was only capable of malice. “He went back inside to get Carl and Judith.” The news sets his heart aflame, Negan chose his children over him as he should, he could ask for no more. 

“Thanks,” he means it sincerely and steps away meaning to go back towards the building but pauses. He’s ashamed to admit to himself that in his cold little room he had come to fear Hardy. He hated the way he laughed at him, hated the way he made him feel so small and vulnerable. The moment he was able to defend himself Hardy behaved as his friend, as a typical bully would. Blood roars in his ears and before he can stop himself he turns and swings Lucille catching Hardy at the back of the head and sending him to the ground. 

He looks around to see if anyone had noticed and when he looks down again Hardy is crawling on his fat belly, with blood pouring down the back of his neck. There has been enough killing, enough blood shed but he was never one to lead by example, do as I say not as I do. He stalks his prey unconcerned with the danger around them. He wants to yell at him, scream curses at the top of his lungs but instead he stomps on Hardy’s lower back, stilling him, flattening him to the ground, making him less than the dirt beneath him. No more killing, enough, but the problem is he likes to kill. 

He brings the bat down on the back of Hardy’s head, once, twice, and third time’s a charm as Hardy’s brain matter splatters his boots. He steps away breathing heavily and smirking at his work. His basking is short lived as a walker approaches and he swings Lucille making quick work of it. He takes out three more in quick succession and sees that the Saviour’s are holding the fence upright and reversing the lorry to hold it firm. 

He takes off running, knocking down walkers as he goes heading north to the west side of the building assuming Negan would have gone to the nursery. The firing had slowed but not stopped and as he nears the door he entered earlier it opens and a stocky man with short cropped hair wearing self-made riot gear exits. 

His eyes widen as they spot him and he fumbles at his belt for his gun. “Stop in the name of the…” He draws first and fires a single bullet into the man’s head. He steps over the man’s body and enters the market listening intently. All is suspiciously quiet and he cannot shake the sense of foreboding as he nears the front of the building. 

He’s halfway when he hears the chatter and he approaches cautiously as the words start to make sense. 

“We should kill him now, show no mercy.” Maggie. Maggie was here. 

“Tie him to the back of the truck naked and drag his sorry ass ‘til he’s dead and gone.” Daryl adds. 

“Fucking inbred,” Negan states and groans as if he’s been hit. They’re in the nursery and by the sounds of it they have Negan surrounded. 

“Let’s just do this and leave.” Michonne insists and his rage intensifies. He had once considered her a second mother to his children and yet she was a part of this. She had willingly sacrificed Judith and Carl and for what? 

“I’ll put an arrow through his heart, see if he has one.” 

“Stop!” He yells and enters the room. Negan is stood by the cabinet and looks relieved to see him as Daryl is aiming his crossbrow at his heart. Michonne and Maggie stand either side of him and in the corner stands Dwight. He assumes Daryl must have let him out, he must have been a mole, Negan should have killed him. “None of you have the right to kill him more than me.” He says vehemently but he doesn’t entirely believe it, Maggie had more right than anyone. “You!” He points Lucille at Negan and relishes the fear he sees in his eyes. “Get down on your knees.” Daryl steps back, allowing him his revenge and Negan slowly lowers to his knees but holds his head high, spirit unbroken. 

“Kill him,” Maggie encourages as he approaches Negan and he hates to hear it from her but he can understand. 

But they need to understand. 

He stops in front of Negan, passes him Lucille and as the others lurch forward, he turns drawing his weapon. 

“No,” Michonne covers her mouth as if she didn’t mean to speak as Negan stands upright behind him and presses a hand against his hip. 

“He killed Glenn!” Daryl shouts in anger and he turns the gun on his brother. This was the true world’s end with families torn apart and brothers fighting brothers. 

“You killed Glenn.” He’s heard the words said so many times now he could recite them in his sleep. The truth is a hard pill to swallow and harder still when supposed allies use it to wound friends. Daryl had always been vulnerable, trying to be a good man but too easily influenced by bad ones. He winces in response and draws back retreating into himself. He knows the truth. 

“Rick please…” Michonne tries next and he turns the gun on her ignoring the tears in her eyes that once might have moved him but he feels nothing as he can see the dead body of Tommy behind her.

“You knew Judith was here.” There’s accusation in his tone as he removes the safety. “You, who has lost a child before, you should have known better. You all endangered Carl and for what, for fucking what? For Glenn? Look behind you, his name was Tommy, his parents don’t even know he’s dead. Did Glenn want that? My daughter is permanently scarred, did Glenn want that? Killing is not the answer.” 

“I’ll sleep better at night knowing he’s dead.” Maggie responds hardened by Glenn’s death he barely recognizes her anymore. 

“He will be punished but not like this. He’ll be in a cell for the rest of his life, the Sanctuary doesn’t have to fall.”

“He has to die.”

“It won’t bring Glenn back. Maggie, listen to me, Negan can’t die but he will pay for what he’s done. When we go back to Alexandria he’ll die an old man in the cell that Morgan built.”

“No!” Maggie snaps and is chorused by the others. “That filth isn’t welcome in Alexandria, that was Glenn’s home not his. Why should he get to live to a ripe old age? I don’t want my child growing up breathing the same air as the scumbag that killed their father.”

“He ain’t welcome.” Daryl adds, eyes averted. 

He’s lost. He always thought he would return to Alexandria but his home was here, his heart…was here. 

“Call off your dogs, end this war.”

“Rick,” Michonne pleads without saying a word. 

“Negan stands down, as heir Carl is the leader of the Sanctuary. Stop the fighting, stop the needless killing and negotiate with us or we can all die here today.” 

“The devil don’t change, Rick, he changes you, you remember that.” Maggie snaps ominously.

“Do we have a deal?” He insists. 

“Fine. But you put that animal in a cage where it belongs before I put it down.” Negan moves closer to him as much to annoy the other as using him as a shield. What little respect they still have for him protects Negan and they slowly filter out of the room and he is left with his husband. 

“Is my little princess okay?” Negan asks when the room empties and they turn to face one another. He had come close to death and his concern is for their children while his supposed family hadn’t batted an eyelash at the news. 

“She’s cut up but strong.”

“Like her Daddy,” Negan says with his winning pinball smile. “So, I guess you’re homeless now huh? My rugged vagabond.”

“We both are, I meant what I said, Carl is now the leader.”

“Fucking fine, I abdicate or some shit, be nice to spend some quality time with my husband.” He pauses as the firing stops and eyes him with a seriousness he usually lacked. “Will you miss home?”

Will he miss home? Yes and no. He had some good memories there, but the bad outweighed the good and in truth he wasn’t the same man he was when he had left there. 

“Home is where the heart is,” he answers and watches Negan’s face alight in joy. 

“You mean that?” 

He pulls the ring from his pocket and places it onto his fourth finger on his left hand. “I do.”


	21. Epilogue

Rick hopped out of the truck while it was still in motion and walked to the back of it when it came to a stop. Lifting the hatch, he opened the back and looked over the numerous baskets of vegetables before turning to the willowy ginger that came to stand by his side. 

“These need to be taken to dock one.”

“Yessir,” Blake answered. On paper, the thirty-year-old Blake Dalton was Carl’s Second, replacing Simon who was forced into retirement due to atrocities done under Negan’s command and most likely his own. Blake was unassuming and kind hearted, but determined. He didn’t strike fear in the hearts of his adversaries but the time of living in fear was over. He was a good paper second though how many people fell for the ruse he was not sure, as it seemed obvious that he was Carl’s second. It was a title he could not claim publicly as his allegiance to Negan left many doubting his credibility, so Blake became the face he hid behind. 

He pats Blake on the shoulder and walks over to the white van where Carl stands overlooking inventory. “You okay with Redirect?” Carl lifts his head and looks at him in understanding. 

“I got this, Dad.” He offers him a tight smile and takes his leave. 

Trade day was especially taxing on him in heart, mind and spirit and when his nerves were frayed to this extent is when he usually made bad choices. It sets him on edge and threatens to disturb the equilibrium he had found and loosen his fragile grip on sanity. 

It doesn’t get easier despite what people had told him. The wounds have not healed and they fester and it is for that reason why he still attends instead of allowing Blake to go in his stead. The alliance was still in its infancy, which left it weak and vulnerable. Old hatreds were ignored not forgiven so he could not allow Carl to walk the potential minefield alone. 

He walks over towards the junked cars and then past them, beyond the wall of walkers to two graves marked by wooden crosses. One is adorned with a well-loved weather-beaten teddy and the other a simple toy firetruck. He stands at the foot of the latter’s grave and takes a deep breath finding his centre. 

For every action, there was a reaction. Every decision came with a price. Tommy Latimore became expendable, as did he, Carl and Judith to the Alexandrians. The future lay dead because the past could not forgive. A harrowing reminder of what had happened and what could not happen again. 

He comes here often when he feels himself slipping back into old habits. Those who do not learn from the past are doomed to repeat it and for far too long he has been chased by the ghost of Shane. Days like today make him question his decision to save Negan, as so many of his friends have been hurt by his betrayal but standing at Tommy’s grave put everything into perspective. 

He had made the right decision. He had paid the price at the cost of his friends. He had taken Carl’s chance at returning home, and he still can’t decide if that was a necessary evil or a selfish trick done by a devoted dad. Carl had not said anything to suggest he was against the decision and as a natural born leader he thrived, implementing ideas he had that would not have been passed under Negan’s rule. 

The council had been Carl’s idea, a re-imagining of Hershel’s idea. The first meeting had been thrown together on the day of the war. Tensions were still high while suspicions ran rampant as they met by the furnace where Negan tended to deal his form of justice. Dwight understood the relevance and his presence at that meeting left a bad taste in his mouth. How long had he been in collusion with the Alexandrians? He must have known about redirect and still he brandished him with a weapon to kill Negan. He was a spineless selfish snake and he had the audacity to make demands with the Alexandrians support. He was tempted to shoot down Dwight’s proposal for the sheer devilment of it and would have, if he didn’t feel as strongly as he did about the subject. Dwight had only one demand, his thirty pieces of silver worth, Negan must divorce all of his wives and release them without consequence. He had readily accepted since the wives had always been a contention between himself and Negan, and Dwight spoke only of the wives, not husbands. Dwight had not been a part of the meetings since. As far as he knew he had taken Sherry, who had been his wife before and had moved to Alexandria where he could remain in Daryl’s shadow.

Another group present at that first meeting also made his blood boil and skin crawl. They called themselves the Scavengers but vultures would be more suitable. How the Alexandrians became affiliated with them remained a mystery. From what he later learned, they were a ragtag group living in a junkyard with allegiance to no one but themselves. He had gathered that much, had seen it for himself. The Scavengers had no part in the war and therefore no right to the spoils and he said as much when it was made clear the Scavengers came only for the weapons. A group like that were a liability and given weapons they would become a threat. So he snitched on them, informed those gathered how the Scavengers were waiting and not acting. Whatever fragile bond they had with the others shattered into a thousand pieces and the Scavengers were excluded from the negotiations, swearing vengeance as they left. 

The first agreement was in regards to the guns. Alexandria had come with everything they had, along with Hilltop and the Kingdom. Where they had found that cache of weapons remained a secret but they swore on loved one’s lives that there were no more. He doubted that, but he was not in charge, Carl was and cooler heads prevailed. That day it was decided that all weaponry would be divided evenly between them so no one group was stronger than the other. There was some concern with the Sanctuary having weapons which irked him, and he had paced like a caged lion behind Carl before he did something he may later regret. 

He didn’t know those people who he once considered family. They had murdered children and only concerned themselves with weapons to cause more harm and then had the audacity to suggest the Sanctuary should remain unarmed. Under the same steam they asked or rather demanded that the Saviours be disbanded as they posed a threat in numbers regardless of weapons. Carl was able to make them see reason, he could see tempers had flared, feelings had been hurt and no one was thinking clearly, he had been feeling the same. 

The Saviours did disband but not by decree but by choice. Negan had largely recruited mindless bullies who had baulked at the idea of communism. It was not an ideology they could support and a fraction broke away to form their own group outside of the peace treaty. Knowing they would strong-arm anyone who they came across it was advised that they take a vehicle and some petrol and try their luck elsewhere which they readily accepted. 

The Saviours that had remained were good folk who had done bad things to survive. Their home was the Sanctuary and they offered their services elsewhere in exchange for food, mostly working on expansions for the Kingdom and Hilltop. Their land was fertile unlike the Sanctuary and since nothing would grow in the poisoned earth and a trade deal had been established, it had become a graveyard. 

He looks up from Tommy’s grave and sees the line of crosses along the back fence. Amber’s was the first, he had dug the grave himself and laid her to rest. Beside her was Mark, and in a show of respect he had taken off his wedding ring and put it back onto Mark’s finger before laying him to rest. Amber’s mother was next and the row continued thirty-two crosses along and four rows deep. Tommy’s parents still lived and the thought of burying him alone weighed heavy on his heart and so he buried him beside Amy so neither child would be alone. 

It is harrowing to see so many graves but it is grounding and he needed that stability. The trip to Alexandria is always a daunting task; it is not so much the place as he had lost so many places before but it was the people. Somehow, through thick and thin and pure dumb luck they had stayed together and became a convoluted family, as Negan would say. He had thought the bond was unbreakable but everything and everyone had their breaking points and they had met theirs. 

Daryl had been like a brother to him. For as strong as he was he was vulnerable too. Full of self-doubt caused by a domineering brother and abusive father, it had been something to behold watching him emerge from his shell. He didn’t trust easily and to have earned his trust was a blessing and yet he had callously thrown it aside. He had accused his brother of killing Glenn, had used Negan’s words to wound and he had seen the immediate hurt that had distorted Daryl’s features. He could see then that Daryl blamed himself and he had only confirmed his suspicion. 

He’d like to think he had only spoken in anger but he hadn’t. He did truly believe Daryl’s actions caused Glenn’s death and he had accused him with such conviction Daryl knew he hadn’t said it to hurt him but because he believed it. Whatever sense of self Daryl had gathered had been lost and when he visits Alexandria he sometimes sees Daryl lurking in the background with the group and yet so far away from them. He had been burned and he allowed his insecurities to overpower his rationale and had distanced himself from the flames that had scarred him. 

Michonne, too had distanced herself, becoming aloof and untrusting as she was once before. He had never meant for that to happen, in a way he was hoping he had done for her what Jessie had done for him and opened her heart and mind to endless possibilities. Things were so fleeting in this world that you were blessed to have them for a moment because a lifetime was no longer promised. He had loved Michonne as much as he was able, as much as he could afford because he couldn’t see a future for himself or for her. He had thought she had understood that but instead he had become her crutch. She had become dependent on him and viewed his marriage to Negan as a betrayal. It wasn’t betrayal it was survival and her failure to see that was as much a betrayal as his supposed one. 

Out of them all, he had hurt Maggie the most. She had demanded the execution of Negan, which he could not offer. Redirect was a very real threat and Negan had told Carl only enough to satisfy the agreement but not enough to put an end to it. He had tried to explain but Maggie’s mind had broken, torn apart by lost loved ones. Her thirst for revenge consumed her and when the Alexandrians voted on Negan’s imprisonment, Maggie lost faith in them too. In retaliation to their perceived faithlessness she had declared Hilltop as her home and soon assumed control and barred him from entering as her first order. He respected her wishes and remained at the gate on trade day and he would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt because it did. Maggie had lost more than anyone else, he said he could empathize but he couldn’t, not really. When he had lost Lori he had become unhinged and when he thought he had lost Carl he had endangered the whole town when he meant only to endanger himself. He can’t imagine losing his entire family and the baby she is carrying being a constant reminder of the violent death her husband suffered. When the baby is born he hopes to make amends with her, but it is doubtful and he mourns their friendship. 

He looks out to the graves once more, and releases a deep breath. What’s done is done. He leaves Tommy’s grave and continues his walk around the Sanctuary stopping suddenly when he notices Negan and Judith playing in the sand at the other side of the building. Negan has his back to him and Judith is looking down building sandcastles with an old saucepan. Negan continues to wear his jacket despite the heat but Lucille is gone, laid to rest in one of the graves as a substitute for his wife. The wedding ring that Negan always wore had been taken off and now marked the grave. 

He hides behind the wall unwilling to disturb the pair although it was needless as Negan was busy digging a moat for Judith’s half-collapsed castle. He had promised Maggie that he would incarcerate Negan for his crimes, and he did in the beginning. He had thrown him in the hole for a few days in retaliation for Megan’s confinement and then in his old room for his own revenge; and so he might see the world from his dusty little window and know that it can go on without him. 

There were no wives left to occupy the wives’ wing and he had hoped the isolation would drive Negan mad. He had barred Carl from visiting and undertook Barry’s role distributing food, though he did not enter the room. He did not trust himself as his skin burned for Negan’s touch, instead he sawed a hole in the bottom of the door to pass the tray through. 

Confinement was supposed to be a punishment, a time for self-reflection and soul searching. Negan failed to crack, his voice was his armour and his humour his shield and he had taken neither. Time had been his greatest enemy but it appeared to be Negan’s dear friend. He thrived in captivity and appeared genuine in his joy that the Sanctuary had flourished under Carl’s rule. He tormented him with words about their past relations, made him hunger in a way he questioned who was truly confined. 

Then, after two months, three days and seventeen hours he granted Negan clemency. He’d expected a backlash and had braced himself for the taunts but within the Sanctuary where Negan still had influence no derogatory comments came. Instead whispers from the Hilltop and Alexandria reached his ears and talks of Stockholm Syndrome were bandied about. It wasn’t Stockholm Syndrome, he hadn’t been brainwashed, he had had his eyes opened. If they thought him so changed it was because he was. Negan had broken him down piece by piece and forced him to analyze every bit of himself before he put him back together. He wasn’t reshaped in Negan’s image, he was Negan, they all were. When had drive and determination been looked down upon? Why must Negan be punished for crimes they had themselves committed? There was no difference to what Negan had done and what they had done at the satellite tower. 

Despite the double standards, that was not his reasoning for releasing Negan. Instead, one desperate cry of ‘Dada’ broke his heart and opened his eyes. He had deprived Judith of one father, he would not make the same mistake again. 

Upon his release, they had spoken in-length about what had happened and what they wanted to happen. There were plans he had only fantasized about but with Negan they had promise. To move forward, they could not look back but it was difficult. He had opened his mind to Negan, and his legs but his heart was another matter. He had always been careful with it, even before the outbreak, he had been a difficult husband to Lori, he can see that now. He doesn’t want to be a difficult husband to Negan.

He leaves the safety of the wall and walks over to the pair and sits on the ground opposite Negan. He ruffles Judith’s tussled blonde hair in greeting and offers Negan a smile which he returns. It’s still early days but he knows he is where he needs to be. He lifts a broken sippy cup and fills it with sand and makes a turret. They will rebuild, their alliances were strong with King Ezekiel in the Kingdom, Aaron who had taken control in Alexandria and even Maggie, who, despite the hurt would not jeopardize the welfare of her people or child. 

He builds another turret and pauses when Negan adorns it with a simple gold ring. He takes it without question and places it on his fourth finger on his left hand. Laughter makes him turn around and he spies Carl stood some metres away, an arm slung around Brooke’s shoulders while his hat shadows his eye. Brooke is covering her mouth after laughing in joy and he’s pleased to see Enid stood not far behind them gossiping with Jade and Maria. The Sanctuary had become her second home and she appeared less flighty for it. 

He turns back to Negan and sees the joy dancing in his hazel eyes and something deep within him is stirred. What he has with Negan isn’t Stockholm Syndrome, it is something more than that, deeper…pure…cleansing. 

He has experienced a rebirth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. As you may know I have fallen out of love with this pairing due to the series finale so these last pages were hard to write as I no longer believed in them. I hope I gave you something different and thank you for sticking with me. Unfortunately, ‘All Roads Lead to Terminus’ has been deleted. I can’t commit to this pairing (did I mention I really despise the series finale?) Our paths may cross again in another fandom, once again thank you for your support x


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